


piece of your heart

by jenhyung



Series: roulettes [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-07-12 02:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 36,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenhyung/pseuds/jenhyung
Summary: roulette two: a collection of shorts and drabbles (updates: yujae, noren, dotae)





	1. content

hello, it's ryan!

here's the second round of roulette, as requested. you can find the original tweet [here](https://twitter.com/jenhyungs/status/1153552189417148416?s=20), along with the works posted in pdf format. all works are above 500 words, prompts and pairings are picked by curiouscat anons. 

general disclaimer: not beta-ed, most of them written under a half hour, not much thinking put into the plot, just writing practice!

i'll be adding them five chapters at the time, so as to not clog up the feed on ao3.

you can find me on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/jenhyungs)!

update (6/8/19): and we're done! ;–; 

* * *

**summaries by chapter**

chapter 1  
(content)

[ **chapter 2**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47212981)  
a fever  
yuta/jaehyun  
956w  
fluff

[ **chapter 3**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47213029)  
with me  
renjun/jeno  
930w  
action, fluff

[ **chapter 4**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47213047)  
beds  
jeno/renjun  
895w  
fluff

[ **chapter 5**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47213077)  
'i don't care'  
taeil/youngho  
1490w  
angst, happy ending

[chapter 6](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47213098)  
on a flight  
renjun/jeno  
862w  
fluff

[ **chapter 7**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47213125)  
celebrity au  
jaehyun/sicheng  
718w  
fluff

 **[chapter 8](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47259718)**  
highway  
kun/xuxi  
777w

[chapter 9](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47259688)  
space heater  
jeno/renjun  
851w

[ **chapter 10**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47259895)  
a dinner on friday  
jeno/renjun  
786w

[ **chapter 11**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47259895)  
secretary  
jaehyun/yuta  
883w

[ **chapter 12**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47261644)  
punch  
taeil/youngho  
1029w

[ **chapter 13**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47288743)  
tuesday morning/library  
renjun/jeno  
related to [**chapter 3**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47213029)  
926w

 **[chapter 14](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47289637)**  
hogwarts au  
youngho/taeil  
854w

[ **chapter 15**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47290927)  
celebrity  
jeno/donghyuck  
979w

[ **chapter 16**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47293573)  
getaway  
renjun/jeno  
919w

[ **chapter 17**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47295796)  
superheroes  
doyoung/taeyong  
926w  
warnings: mentions of death, no actual death

 **[chapter 18](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47425393)**  
limits/out of breath  
minhyung/jaemin  
1199w

[ **chapter 19**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47342038)  
hogwarts au  
doyoung/taeyong  
related to 'the emerald napkin'  
819w

[ **chapter 20**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47342089)  
celebrity/hospital  
jaemin/minhyung  
1243w

[ **chapter 21**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47423722)  
with me  
renjun/jaemin  
(minhyung/donghyuck)  
1116w

[ **chapter 22**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47427250)  
celebrity au  
doyoung/taeyong  
1031w

[ **chapter 23**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47457337)  
beds/hogwarts au  
taeyong/doyoung  
911w

[ **chapter 24**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47494501)  
fever  
donghyuck/jeno  
1411w

[ **chapter 25**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47495773)  
limits  
taeyong/doyoung  
910w

[ **chapter 26**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47638975)  
with me  
doyoung/taeyong  
warnings: angst, arguing  
related to: 22. celebrity au  
2281w

[ **chapter 27**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47631085)  
concert   
taeil/youngho  
warnings: angst, ambiguous ending  
1303w

[ **chapter 28**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47660281)  
hogwarts au  
jaehyun/doyoung  
1000w

[ **chapter 29**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47661436)  
hogwarts au  
kun/xuxi  
(doyoung/taeyong)  
1059w

[ **chapter 30**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47669656)  
hogwarts au  
minhyung/jaemin  
1057w

 **[chapter 31](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47672329)**  
with me/delay  
renjun/xuxi  
1165w

[ **chapter 32**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47674999)  
turning left/i don't care  
donghyuck/minhyung  
(jaemin/jisung)  
1077w

 **[chapter 33](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47695696)**  
a dinner on friday  
jaehyun/yuta  
1016w

[ **chapter 34**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47693326)  
lip gloss/concert  
renjun/jeno  
1211w

[ **chapter 35**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47704069)  
secretary/hospital  
doyoung/taeyong  
2000w


	2. a fever - yujae - fluff

Jaehyun doesn’t get sick easy. Truthfully speaking, he hasn’t been this sick in ages (since he was four, maybe) and it’s something he takes pride in–he didn’t like going to the doctor and he didn’t want to have to; Jaehyun hasn’t seen a doctor since he was eighteen, and that was when he broke his arm playing basketball with Youngho. And it isn’t like Jaehyun doesn’t take good care of himself, because he does; he eats enough fruits, drinks enough water, runs enough miles, gets enough sleep–he doesn’t understand why his body’s choosing now to fail on him. 

The last week has been dotted with honey lemon water and weird traditional remedies he has his mother sending him, but all of them aren’t that much help in alleviating the heaviness in his chest and the congestion in his face. Everything hurts–his cheeks, his arms, everywhere he didn’t think a flu would affect, it _hurts._ The company’s even told him to take the rest of the week of because they can’t have Jaehyun hacking away in the office, having everyone else at risk of contracting whatever viral infection he’s got.

Tonight marks the fifth night he’d climbed into bed with this ridiculous flu, and he’s starting to wonder, with tissues wadded tightly in his hands, if life is meant to be this difficult.

He struggles to sleep, fidgeting to try and find a position that doesn’t have his airways completely blocked. He shivers again and again, freezing even with the third blanket wrapped around him. The heater is no match for the winter this season and Jaehyun thinks he should say a little prayer before the cold consumes him.

“Baby.”

Jaehyun stops moving almost immediately. Somewhere in the back of his phlegm infest mined, he remembers that he isn’t alone in bed. A hand comes up from behind, cool when it rests against his forehead. Jaehyun sighs at the touch, the relief immense. It felt like he was drowning in himself, in this cursed flu, and this touch saved him, gave him breath.

Now he’s sure he’s delirious.

“You’re still running a fever,” comes Yuta’s hoarse voice. He pulls away and Jaehyun moans, not caring at all how it must sound so needy. Yuta senses this–knows it, “I’ll be right back.”

The time Yuta takes to putter out into the kitchen and return with a cold compress feels like an eternity to Jaehyun. His eyes are squeezed shut, but he feels it when Yuta crowds over him, sitting y his edge of the bed to pat him down with a damp washcloth.

“Baby,” Yuta sighs. He combs the hair off Jaehyun’s forehead, sighing once more at how Jaehyun’s drenched in sweat. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital? See an actual doctor?”

Jaehyun shakes his head, too feeble to answer. He reaches out of his warm cocoon to hold onto Yuta, holding on to the only thing that’s helping him through this heinous night.

“Scooch over,” Yuta tells him, nudging at his shoulders to have him wriggle back towards the middle of their bed. Jaehyun goes, not in any condition to argue when Yuta climbs back into bed, this time lying close to have Jaehyun rest on his chest. He puts an arm around Jaehyun’s shoulder, cuddles him close, “This is definitely more than just a flu, Jae.”

“I don’t,” he’s interrupted by a hacking cough, “need to see one.”

“Sure, you don’t,” Yuta mocks his cough, but his hands are still on Jaehyun’s forehead and neck, trying to cool him down. “I’m not going to have you die on my just because of some crappy flu, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun buries his face into Yuta’s sleepshirt, “I’m not going to _die_.”

“You’d better not.” Yuta kisses his crown, “I’ll kill you if you do.”

Jaehyun laughs, but it comes out like a weak, breathless wheeze, so he stops. He’s attacked by another round of coughs, apologetic when he realizes belatedly how he’s been infecting Yuta’s shirt, “Sorry. I–I’m going to get you sick.”

“We share the same bed and we eat from the same bowl,” Yuta reminds him. He doesn’t seem all too bothered that he’s about to suffer the same symptoms Jaehyun’s now facing, “Whatever you have, I’ll be having sooner or later.”

Jaehyun moans, feeling a headache now coming along, “I’m still sorry.”

Yuta clicks his tongue, moving to rub along Jaehyun’s back soothingly, “You could make it up to me by going to see a doctor. So that you’d at least be cured enough to take of me by the time I catch your flu.”

“Okay,” Jaehyun caves. Whether it’s because of the pain in his chest or the thought of them both being too sick to care for one another, he can’t clear his mind enough to know. The sweating subsides with Yuta and his magical cold compress, “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he hears Yuta mumble, shifting them a little to have Jaehyun more comfortably against the pillows, “In sickness and in health, right?”

Jaehyun finally opens his eyes, meeting Yuta’s. He’s got dark eye circles too from being woken up in the middle of the night countless of times this past week, but he’s still smiling softly down at Jaehyun, like it didn’t matter at all to him, being shoved awake at four in the morning to take care of Jaehyun.

“I love you,” Jaehyun says. He tries to resist the desire to kiss Yuta, but his mind tells him that there’s no harm, since he’s going to catch it too, whatever it is. Yuta seems to think the same way, kissing back chastely.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments/kudos appreciated!


	3. with me - noren - action/fluff

“We have to go.”

Renjun stares at his hand. He doesn’t know what he’s just done. The flames threaten to engulf the alley and the corpses on the floor, the bodies of people–of things–he’s never seen before, but now he’s hurt them– _how_ did he do it?

A second ago, he thought he was being mugged. All he could think about was calling out for help, trying to reach for his phone in his back pocket, praying he wouldn’t please _god_ take his last breath today. In the dark, he saw a flash of blonde and another of auburn. Were they the ones trying to mug him? What was happening? He couldn’t see. Wasn’t it nighttime? Renjun had been walking home from campus, hadn’t he?

There had been darkness everywhere, but now it’s as if someone had stolen the sun and covered the alley in the brightest afternoon light.

Then, he’d felt it. The heat on his hand when something grabbed him by the shoulders. It felt like _claws_. Renjun screamed, eyes screwed shut at the terrifying grip on him. Unthinking, he’d shoved his right hand before him, gasping as a large beam of light blasts his assailant off his feet. He’d tried to look, with heavy breaths he’d tried to see who–or what–he’d so accidentally attacked when–

“We have to go _now_.”

It’s a boy standing before him now. The streak of blonde he’d seen earlier. Renjun shakes his head, stepping away from the boy’s outstretched hand. He looks at the boy and then at the body on the ground, _oh my god,_ “I just–I just–what? What did I just do?”

“I’ll explain on the way back to the academy,” the boy promises. He doesn’t move to grab Renjun’s arm, but he pleads with his eyes. He looks over his shoulder, like he’s expecting something else. “You have to come with me. We don’t have time.”

“What? What academy?” Renjun holds his hand to his chest. It isn’t burning hot anymore, but he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, as if the blood’s been cut off. “Who–who are you?”

“Renjun, we can’t waste any more–”

“I hear two more coming in up north, Jeno!” A sharp voice bounces off the walls of the alley, scaring Renjun a foot into the air, “We have to go _now_.”

“Listen to me.” Renjun startles when the boy speaks, standing closer now than he’d been before. His eyes are piercing, the hard lines of his jaw distracting as he speaks, “If we don’t go now, we’re going to have to call for back-up and things are going to get really messy once we do. We’re not supposed to be out here for you yet, but I–” the boy blinks twice, “–we couldn’t wait.”

“For me?” Renjun can’t breathe, “What–what are you talking about–”

The boy looks over his shoulder again and Renjun looks too, equally worried now, “Your gift isn’t honed enough to fight off another Creature and Hyuck can only hide the night for so long–we have to go and we have to go now.”

It’s the urgency in the boy’s voice that has Renjun’s feet moving. He stumbles after the boy, only then realizing the uniform he’s in–all black with straps on his thigh and waist, holding on to knives and blades Renjun can’t yet identify. His boots slosh noisily aginst the puddles and Renjun is staring at the reflection of the bright sky when it drops once more–night returns.

“What–”

“It’s Hyuck, he’s up on the roofs,” the boy says. Renjun associates it with the voice in the alley, “Creatures hate sunlight, but he can’t hold off the night for too long–especially when it’s full moon.”

Renjun’s head spins, “Full moon–”

“It means,” the boy says, grabbing onto Renjun’s hand, “we have to go, Renjun.”

“Who are you?” Renjun babbles, following blindly as the boy leads them down a few blocks, long legs taking strides Renjun has to jog to keep up with. “And how do you know my name? Where to find me?”

“We don’t have time–”

A thing–a creature–appears then, immortalzing right before Renjun’s eyes. He witnesses it raising a clawed hand, roaring a growl so loud the entire city threatens to wake, but it’s gone a second later. Renjun opens his eyes, not knowing he’d even had it shut, to see the creature now evaporating in a cloud of ashes and black smoke.

“Renjun.” He turns to the boy beside him, a large silver sword in his right hand. He’d just _slain_ the creature, “Are you okay?”

Renjun has a million reasons to say no–one of them being _I was almost mauled by some weird demonic creature_ –but he says, “Y–yes. Yes, I’m okay.”

“I know this must be very confusing,” the boy says, watching Renjun carefully. Renjun tries to shut his breathing up, tries to calm his racing heart. “But you have to trust me, okay?”

“I–I don’t think I have a choice,” Renjun laughs morbidly, fighting for air, “I don’t know what’s happening, I think I just _killed_ someone, I’ve never–what am I going to go, I–”

“I’ll explain everything later,” the boy tells him. He’s still holding onto Renjun, squeezing their hands once, trying to reassure him. It’s as if he’s fighting the greatest internal battle when he says, “My name is Jeno.”

Renjun, he doesn’t know why, whispers it, “Okay, Jeno.”

“Okay. Now come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments/kudos appreciated! ;;


	4. beds - noren - fluff

“I’m sorry, but all the beds are full tonight.”

“You don’t understand. He’s literally throwing up every two seconds, I can’t bring him home!” Donghyuck’s voice, dear _god_ , is the loudest thing in the emergency room. This includes the ambulances whirring just outside those flimsy glass doors Jeno wants to throw up on. “My rating on Uber is a four-point-seven, I can’t go any lower than that, I really can’t. It’s most definitely going to drop if he throws up in the back of one.”

“Sir, your friend is drunk.”

_I am,_ Jeno thinks.

“We have patients en route form a pileup accident a highway three miles from here–we really can’t afford to admit,” she looks at the clipboard, “Mr. Lee.”

“Is this legal?” Jaemin speaks, if possible, even louder than Donghyuck does, “Refusing care to injured patients!”

“With all due respect,” the nurse is gritting her teeth and Jeno feels terrible. He wants to say that he’s fine, but throw up threatens to spill if he even thinks of opening his mouth in the slightest. “We have protocol here, and as much as I would like to help the three of you sober up–”

“We really aren’t drunk,” Donghyuck says, which is a lie. They are. Really drunk. It’s Jeno’s birthday, or Jaemin’s. He can’t remember what month they’re in. “Our friend, he keeps throwing up, we don’t know what to do.”

“He needs some water and some biscuits and–”

Jeno straightens at the sound of biscuits, like some deranged puppy that hasn’t been fed in hours. They haven’t eaten since dinner. He opens his mouth to say _again_ that he’s fine, and that he doesn’t need to see a doctor, but the ceiling is spinning then, and he looks at it for only a second before he realizes he’s now on the floor. He blacks out.

*

When Jeno wakes, there’s a small hand on his arm. Then, a really painful prick. His eyes fly wide open and the sight of the lights overhead forces him to shut them again.

“Careful there,” a voice says. “Don’t want you hitting your head all over again.” The voice drifts further and the sound of plastic being ripped echoes off the walls. Sound shouldn’t be doing that, should it?

Disoriented, Jeno swallows hard. “What happened?”

“You knocked yourself out pretty terribly in the waiting room,” the voice tells him. When it nears the cot Jeno’s on, he makes out almond eyes and a sharp chin. The boy has light blue scrubs on and a nametag clipped to his pocket, HUANG Renjun. “Hard enough to earn yourself a bed in the hospital tonight.”

“Sorry,” Jeno mumbles. His throat scratches with every breath, “I–heard it was full.”

“It was.” Renjun tinkers around with the Ringer’s solution attached onto Jeno’s arm, “But we had a few of them redirect to another hospital not far from here.”

“I–”

“Not purely because of you,” Renjun assures him. He finished checking up on the bag, attention on Jeno now, who seems to have trouble breathing. Thanks to the alcohol, he thinks. “It’s just a busy season this time of the year, they’ve even got new interns like me handling patients on my own.”

“Right.” Jeno fidgets, the paper crinkling under him. He’s starting to think this nurse to look _ridiculously_ attractive, and something warm in his gut tells him he needs to get out before he can say something stupid, “You’re cute.”

_Like that._

Renjun’s eyes widen for half a heartbeat, then he laughs, almost like a small scoff. He pushes himself off from where he’d been leaning against the side of the cot, shaking his head as he went, “Thanks, I guess.”

“Sorry.” Jeno’s tongue feels too big for his mouth, “I didn’t mean to say that–I’m drunk.”

“It’s okay.”

“But I mean,” Jeno babbles, because he’s drunk and drunk people babble. Although, he’s not all that sure he’s still drunk, but he just needs an excuse to keep talking really, because the room is too white and too small and all he can think about is how warm this nurse would feel in his arms. _Jesus,_ “Even if I weren’t drunk, I’d still think you were cute I mean. I don’t think just think you’re cute because you’re drunk.” He makes a gawking nose, “I mean, because I’m drunk, but I’m not.”

He hears the scribbling of a pen on paper and Jeno doesn’t register the movement when Renjun returns, taking his weak hand and placing a neatly folded piece of paper in it.

Renjun smiles down at him, a pretty pink staining the highs of his cheeks, “I think you’re cute too.”

He leaves, and Jeno’s about to stop him when his mind dizzies at the idea of him sitting up. Blearily, he unfolds the paper in his hand and nearly chokes on a breath when he sees a ten-digit number written nearly, with a small _Call me_ beside it.

(The entire ride home, Donghyuck spends most of it reminding Jeno that throwing up in the back of the Uber is not an option right now, but Jeno doesn’t care, he isn’t even listening–he spends the ride home memorizing Renjun’s number and committing to heart, making the executive decision to call the boy once he’s out of the shower. _Cute_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments/kudos appreciated!


	5. 'i don't care' - johnil - slight angst

Taeil can’t remember how long this fight’s lasted. It’s a particularly nasty one, he knows, about how they’re going to be spending Christmas this year. He wants Youngho to go back home for Christmas, knowing how much Youngho’s been missing it; but Taeil can’t go along this time, not with the amount of work that’s been piling up, and the fact that both Taeyong and Doyoung are also out of the country, off gallivanting Europe for their belated honeymoon. Which meant that their dog, _Podo_ , was going to stay with Taeil and Youngho for the three weeks over Christmas.

“We’ll just send Podo to the dog hotel,” Youngho says now, exasperated to wits end by then. It’s the third time they’re having this conversation, “Or we’ll get Jaehyun and Yuta to take care of him, Taeil, it’s not a big deal.”

“I’ve already told Taeyong I wouldn’t do that,” Taeil sighs, walking out of their kitchen and into their living room. Behind, Youngho follows like a storm, “It’s just Christmas, Youngho, we can spend it apart for one year.”

“I don’t _want_ to,” Youngho stops behind the couch, hands gripping the back of it. “I want to bring you home, Taeil, I want you to meet my family, I want to show you around, I–”

“It’s not like I haven’t been,” Taeil tells him. “It’s not like I haven’t met your family, Youngho, and it’s not like I _don’t_ want to go. I’ve been telling you, work’s just really busy right now and–”

“What good is it if you only focus on work, Taeil!” Youngho doesn’t ever raise his voice, but he speaks harshly, angrily. “I–I feel like I haven’t seen you in the past month, Taeil. You’re always home late and you leave so early–I never get to see you anymore.”

“Why are you saying it like I want to spend all my time at work?” Taeil rises to his feet, glaring at Youngho, _Why can’t he understand? It’s not like I’ve been spending too much time at work–it’s just busy lately._ “It’s not like I enjoy not seeing you, Youngho, don’t say it like that. I don’t want it to be this way either, I come home right after I finish all my paperwork–I don’t–”

“Fine. Whatever,” Youngho says suddenly. Cuts him off with a brush of the hand, breaks their gaze by turning away, “Whatever, Taeil, do whatever you want.”

Taeil frowns. This is an argument. They’re supposed to talk things through, they’re supposed to find a solution together, “What?” Youngho ignores him, heads for their bedroom, dinner forgotten, “Don’t just–walk away, Youngho.”

“Forget it,” he hears Youngho say, retreating into their room. “Just forget it.”

“Youngho–”

“Forget I even said anything,” Youngho tells him. He’s like a whirlwind going through the apartment, he grabs his clothes off the hook by their closet door and his towel from where it’d been lying on the foot of their bed. He shakes his head, “I don’t care.”

Taeil feels first the anger bubbling in him. He stalks to the bathroom door and slams his hand on it to keep it from shutting, unflinching when Youngho wheels on his heels to glare at him. They need space, he knows, but Youngho can’t say that. He can’t say he doesn’t care.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Youngho challenges. He stands at his full height, but it doesn’t intimidate Taeil. They’ve been together far too long for it to scare him in any way. “You clearly don’t. You don’t care about us spending time together, about us being together, about anything other than work. Do you even care about me, Taeil?”

Betraying him, a warm pressure builds behind his eyes. Youngho never raises his voice, but his words–sometimes, he doesn’t know how much they hurt. Taeil speaks, through shallow breaths as he will the tears not to fall, “Don’t say that.”

Youngho’s anger flickers for a second, his lips returning to a hard line, “You can’t do this. You can’t put everything else before me and then do this when I get mad about it. It’s not fair. You’re not being fair to me, Taeil.”

“I don’t do that,” he says. But deep down–he knows he might have been. Has he been taking Youngho for granted? Every day when the younger boy comes to visit him at work, just so they could have lunch together? Even if it was only for a measly half hour? He hasn’t–Taeil is so sure he hasn’t. He loves Youngho, he loves Youngho so much, there’s no way he could. His hand drops from the door, “I don’t do that.”

“You do,” Youngho tells him. Sadly, he backs away, “You have.” Taeil opens his mouth to speak, but Youngho finds the words first, “I get it, Taeil. I know how important work is, but I just wished you’d put me first sometimes. I’m not asking you to quit, I’m not asking you to choose between me and work, I’m not even asking you to come home with me anymore.”

After a moment’s pause, “I know you’re using Podo as an excuse to stay.”

“I’m not–”

“I called Taeyong,” Youngho says. He tosses his towel and clothes onto the floor, tired from holding them up, “He said it’s fine, leaving Podo at the dog hotel–did you even ask him? Or were you just so hellbent on staying here to work over Christmas?”

“I just thought,” Taeil blinks. The tears fall and he sees Youngho crumple. He swipes the tears away, “I didn’t ask, okay, but I thought he wouldn’t want–I just thought he–”

Youngho watches, apologetically almost, as Taeil struggles to see how he’s been the last couple of months. He stands, in silence, and it isn’t until Taeil’s mumbling has quietened that he says, “I don’t care anymore, Taeil. You can do whatever you want now.”

“Stop,” Taeil begs. He’s stepping away now, away from the threshold to the bathroom, away from Youngho. Youngho’s can’t stop caring–he has to care. If he stops caring then. “Don’t say that.”

“Taeil–”

“Don’t say you don’t care!” Taeil says it to the ground, says it to anywhere but Youngho’s face. “If you stop caring then–if you stop–caring. You can’t stop caring. Once you–you stop, you’ll stop _loving_ me. You won’t love me anymore.”

“Taeil.” Youngho’s hands are on him in the second, and Taeil thinks to fight it, but his body thinks otherwise. “Taeil, that’s not what I meant.”

“It is,” Taeil cries, unable to think, unable to function. Had he really been pushing Youngho away? It can’t be– “If you stop caring–you can’t.”

“Taeil–”

“Even if we fight,” Taeil shakes his head, “I want us to fight. I want us to talk about it–don’t just say you don’t care anymore.” He can’t look at Youngho, he knows how Youngho would do anything to make him feel better now that he’s realized how the past weeks have been, but Taeil knows he’s in the wrong.

“Taeil, you can’t–”

“Don’t tell me you don’t care anymore. Just _please_ –I’m sorry, but you can’t–please, okay,” he breathes heavily, “I know you’re angry and I know I’m being unfair, but please don’t say you don’t care about me, I can’t–”

“Okay, okay,” Youngho says, whispers it into his hair. He collects Taeil easily in his arms, brings them both to sit on the edge of their bed, “I didn’t mean I’d stop caring about you Taeil.”

Taeil doesn’t answer, holds onto Youngho’s shirt and sobs quietly, contrite with how he’s been acting. His mind tells him that Youngho is going to want to leave one day, if he keeps this up.

“That’s not what I meant,” Youngho sighs, bringing Taeil close to his chest. “Taeil, I’ll never stop loving you, okay.”

“If you stop caring–”

“Okay, I won’t stop caring.” He lets Taeil soak his shirt with drying tears, “I won’t ever say that I don’t care about you. I will always care, I will always love you.”

“Youngho–”

“I mean it,” he sighs. “I won’t ever tell you again that I don’t care, I’m sorry.”

Taeil speaks into Youngho’s shirt, “I’ll come home with you.”

“Taeil, let’s talk about this another day, not when–”

“No, I–I know how much it means to you.” Taeil pushes Youngho down until he’s lying on top of Youngho, still avoiding his eyes, “You were right–I have been neglecting you.”

Youngho doesn’t answer this, doesn’t tell him if it’s true or not. They both know the answer.

“I am sorry,” Taeil says quietly. And, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Youngho tells him. He kisses Taeil’s cheeks, then once briefly on Taeil’s lips, lingering for only a second, “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments/kudos appreciated! 
> 
> related to [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13816653) ;;


	6. on a flight - noren - fluff

“Switch seats with me.”

Renjun pulls his jacket tighter around himself. The air is unbearably cold on the tarmac, and he can barely Minhyung over the winds, “What?”

“Switch,” Minhyung points at the number on his boarding pass. “With me.”

“Why?”

“You’re sitting next to Donghyuck, aren’t you?” Minhyung bites on his lip. They’re chapped, and distantly, Renjun wonders if Donghyuck ever gave the boy that expensive chapstick he’d bought Minhyung a week ago. “He doesn’t like taking planes–I figured I’d sit next to him.”

_Sure_ , Renjun thinks. This field trip is going to be the death of him if he’s going to spend it playing a third wheel to Donghyuck and Minhyung. He swaps his boarding pass with Minhyung anyway, giving up his window seat for Minhyung’s shoddy aisle seat by the far back of the plane. As he’s settling in, he sees his best friend’s face light up like a million stars at the sight of Minhyung, and he accepts that maybe sitting alone isn’t that bad after all.

“Uh, excuse me.”

Renjun looks up from where he’d been sending a quick _We’re in the plane now, about to take off_ text to his mother, heart stuttering at the sight of blonde hair and perfect lips. It’s Jeno. As in, Lee Jeno, the star of their school’s basketball team. As in, a really perfect looking boy Renjun’s noticed in the halls. As in, the star of Renjun’s dreams.

As in, Lee Jeno.

“Sorry,” Lee Jeno–Jeno–says. He points at the middle seat, “I’m over there.”

“Oh. Oh, yes,” Renjun fumbles with the seat buckle. Why did he buckle himself in so quick, the plane isn’t going anywhere yet. “Yes, oh. Right. Right–sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Jeno says, sliding into his seat when Renjun near stumbles out onto the tiny aisle to let him in.

Renjun, like a creep (he will admit this, alright), watches Jeno out of the corner of his eye. Jeno is neat–he puts his bag under the seat before him and he has a little pouch holding onto a couple of chargers and his passport. He takes out a tablet too, an iPad of sorts, setting it up on his lap, and a pair of headphones.

Jeno scrolls through his Netflix, sifting through movie titles Renjun can’t catch (because he’s spying from his peripheral). He finally settles on one, plugging his headphones in and the world out.

At that, Renjun lets out a small breath. He didn’t think he’d be having a conversation with Lee Jeno, let alone sit beside the boy, but he wouldn’t deny hoping a little conversation. That could possibly lead to a friendship, or maybe something more–Renjun stifles a strangled noise.

“Are you okay?”

Renjun does his best–his absolute best–not to jump in his seat. He turns to Jeno, who’s watching him carefully, “Yes. Yes, I am, yes.” Jeno looks as if he’s just seen Renjun grow a third eye, “I mean–yeah, I’m just nervous about flying.”

“Oh.” Jeno seems genuinely concerned. He fiddles with one side of his headphones before offering it to Renjun, “Do you want to watch something? It might help you take your mind of it.”

_Oh my god_. Oh my _god_. Renjun thinks nothing about the fact that he’s just lied about being afraid of flying (he isn’t; it’s a white lie), because oh my _god_ , Lee Jeno is talking to him. He’s suggesting they watch a movie together–

“Uh,” Renjun finds his manners, “I mean, no that’s okay, I wouldn’t want to–”

“You sure?” Jeno, from this close, is even more breathtaking than when he’s on the courts. Not that Renjun watches. He doesn’t. (He does.) “I wouldn’t mind, really. And I have a lot of movies on here, so we could watch something you liked.”

Renjun’s heart doubles in size. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jeno offers the earbud to Renjun again, “I was going to watch The Dark Knight, but I’ve seen in a couple of times now.”

Renjun takes it, muting a shriek that threatens to bubble through when his fingers brush Jeno’s, “A–and you were still going to watch it again?”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty good movie,”Jeno grins, “Have you seen it?”

It’s the truth this time, “I haven’t.”

Jeno’s eyes widen so comically, and Renjun startles. He didn’t ever think Jeno could look this _cute_ ; he was always so cool and, well, ridiculously good-looking, but never _adorable._ “You have to watch it,” Jeno tells him, bringing them movie up. “It’s the best movie ever–seriously.”

Renjun grins, “I’ll take your word for it then.”

(They watch three movies that flight. Renjun spends the first two thinking about how close Jeno is sitting beside him, leaning on their shared armrest. He’s distracted by how Jeno’s hand was just _there_ , waiting to be held, and he thinks Jeno noticed his distraction, because he’s grabbing onto Renjun’s hand to say, “Focus on that next part–it’s the best.”

And Renjun is sorry, he really is, but he’s having problems _breathing_ with Jeno’s hand in his. He can’t possibly focus on the movie, he really can’t.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments/kudos appreciated


	7. celebrity au - jaewin - fluff

“Go stand outside.”

“What? Why?”

Jaehyun hears Doyoung tease, “So we can boast about having a face like yours in our group.”

Taeyong, from across the waiting room, sinks further into his chair. He scowls, “You make it seem like that’s the only thing I’m good for.”

Doyoung snorts, “What else are you good for?”

Jaehyun looks up at that. He sees a shocked expression cross Taeyong’s face, before it disappears completely. Excusing himself, Taeyong hurries out of the waiting room with hairpins still stuck to the sides of his head, taking all the chatter with him. Their makeup artists sigh, but says nothing else, moving along to work on Donghyuck’s hair instead.

“What’s up with him,” Doyoung mutters into the silence. Jaehyun notices the genuine frown he has on now, watching the door, “I was just joking.”

“It’s comeback week, Doyoung,” Youngho says. He’s lying under a pile of jackets with Taeil sleeping soundly on his chest, “Don’t you know how stressed his is?”

“I _do_ know,” Doyoung settles heavily into where Taeyong’d been sitting, picking up Taeyong’s phone and turning it around in his hands. “I was trying to make him laugh, I was just joking–”

“At his expense?”

“I didn’t mean to–”

Jaehyun stands, interrupting their conversation. The other members are all sprawled across the couch, sleeping soundly, unmoving; and Taeyong, if left alone for more than a minute, is not a good situation. Youngho is rendered unable to move and he knows it’d be explosive if Doyoung went out after him now.

Quietly, he says, “I’ll go get him.”

Doyoung shakes his head, “No, I can go, he’s my–”

“Not at the station, he’s not,” Youngho says. Authority drips steadily into his voice–he always took the role of the leader whenever Taeyong wasn’t around, “You should go, Jaehyun.”

“Okay.”

So Jaehyun goes. He looks in the bathrooms and stairwells, and finds no trace of Taeyong anywhere. He bumps into other groups and managers along the way, greeting everyone politely, even with the growing worry that Taeyong is nowhere to be seen. He can’t possibly have left–even at his worst, Taeyong is rational.

He turns a corner towards the rooftop when–

“Whoa, hey.”

Jaehyun stumbles back, and a pair of hands steady him.

“Sorry,” he apologizes automatically.

“It’s okay,” the other boy says. He’s got dark, curly hair, a nice complement to his fair skin. The rips in his sweater and his jeans are far too big, and Jaehyun finds himself staring for a second too long, “You’re Jaehyun, right? From NCT?”

In that instant, he recognizes the boy to be Sicheng. He’s noticed Sicheng around broadcasting stations before, whenever both their groups happened to promote at the same time, but they’ve never had much chance to talk. Jaehyun nods, “Yeah.”

Sicheng tilts his head to the side. He’s got a can of soda in his hands, “Are you looking for Taeyong?”

_Right_. Right. Jaehyun had completely forgotten about that, “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“He’s in our waiting room with Kun-ge,” Sicheng says. He starts to lead the way, “You alright? You look kind of… green.”

“Yeah,” Jaehyun can’t think of anything else to say, “I was just worried for a moment there. Couldn’t find him. And it’s our comeback today, so.”

Sicheng takes that with some thought. Then, he offers Jaehyun the can of soda. And when Jaehyun says nothing, he nods, “You seem like you need it more than I do.”

“Oh, no,” Jaehyun notices that they’re hovering now outside WayV’s waiting room. “I couldn’t, it’s–”

“It’s okay,” Sicheng tells him. He takes Jaehyun’s hand and places the drink in his hand. It’s a peach flavored soda, “I won a bet with Xuxi earlier, so technically he paid for this.”

The door opens then, and out comes Taeyong, eyes redder than Jaehyun remembers it to be. He looks to Sicheng and Jaehyun, sniffling noisily, “Sorry.” He tells Jaehyun, “I’m good. Let’s go back.”

Jaehyun finds himself being pulled by the wrist as Taeyong leads them away. But before they get too far, he turns to tell Sicheng, “Thank you. For the drink.”

“No problem.” And when Sicheng smiles, oh _god_ , Jaehyun doesn’t know what to do with his dying heart, “See you around, Jaehyun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments/kudos appreciated


	8. highway - xuxikun - fluff

It’s miles and miles of small suburbs and forests and an abundance of speed limit signs that color Kun’s view this morning. Seated comfortably in the passenger seat, he nods gently to the music on the radio, some obscure Cantonese radio station Xuxi’d managed to tune free. He doesn’t understand much Cantonese, but he makes some of it out, tying it to the Mandarin pronunciation in his mind.

“Is there a gas station nearby?”

Kun reaches for his phone where it’d been safely seated by the AC vent, guiding Xuxi down what is probably the longest highway Kun’s ever been on. He taps around the screen and searches here and there, until he finds one not too far off two exits from now.

“I can’t believe we’re running low on gas already.”

Kun looks out the window and simply hums, “I told you we should’ve gotten some before we left the city.”

“You did.”

He turns back around when he feels Xuxi’s right hand close over his, grinning at him widely. Five hours into the drive and he’s still got that adorable quality to him.

“Eyes on the road,” Kun tells him. Xuxi pulls a face and turns away, but he’s smiling one more when Kun laces their fingers together, holding them over his thigh. The exit comes up on the left. “Are you tired? I could take over the next couple of hours.”

“I’m good,” Xuxi says, hitting the blinker. He checks the blind spot and cuts three lanes for the exit. “Don’t fall asleep though.”

Kun wasn’t planning to, but he asks why not anyway.

“Want you to keep me company,” Xuxi says, cheesiness filling the car.

“Right,” Kun rolls his eyes. “I thought you said all that you needed on a road trip’s good weather and good music?”

“And you,” Xuxi murmurs. He brings their hands up to his lips and kisses the back of Kun’s hand gently, “And you.”

Kun chastises him for keeping his hand off the gearbox for too long, but not before blushing red from the bast of his neck to the tips of his ears. They pull into the gas station then, and just as Kun opens the door to get out, Xuxi tugs him back in for a kiss.

It’s sweet, just them meeting over the center console, lips moving together in an effort to savor the moment. Their first rest stop on their first ever road trip together. Kun pulls away before Xuxi manages to slip some tongue in, giving him a scolding look before fumbling out of the car. He fills the car full, trying his best not to let go of the pump while Xuxi hovered over him, sneaking kisses on his neck and the gentlest of touches to his waist.

“Let’s get some candy,” Xuxi says, upon entering the small convenience store. “And some chocolate and drinks.”

“Are you hungry already?” Kun studies the nutrition label on the box of granola bars Xuxi’d grabbed. Way too much sugar in there. He puts it back, “I have some rice snacks in my backpack; I made them last night.”

Xuxi’s eyes widen, if that were even possible, “The ones with the tuna flakes? With the seaweed on the outside?”

“Yes,” Kun loves– _loves–_ the way Xuxi’s face brightens whenever he smiles. “The ones you really like.”

“You made that for me?”

Kun hides his smile, “Who else would I’ve made it for?”

With complete disregard over the fact that they’re standing in between two aisles of junk food, Xuxi crowds him until he bumps into shelves of potato chips. Kun doesn’t struggle when Xuxi cradles him, one arm around his waist, a hand on his nape, kissing him deep.

“We’re–” Kun blushes when he hears himself, kissed breathless. “–in a–gas station, Xi.”

“Ge,” he whispers, leaving kisses down the side of Kun’s jaw, dangerously close to Kun’s neck. “ _Ge_.”

Kun laughs, twisting his fingers into the front of Xuxi’s sweater, “All you need are rice snacks to be happy?”

“And you.” When Xuxi speaks, his breath is hot on Kun’s skin. _God, not here,_ “I thought you said you were working late last night–did you stay up just to make them for me?”

“It didn’t take long, Xi.” Kun struggles to keep his voice leveled when Xuxi places a wet kiss on his neck, riling Kun up the best way he knows how, “Not here, Xuxi–”

“We’re still five hours out from our hotel, ge.”

Kun flushes when he catches sight of the security camera. Its red light blinks at them, “What do you suggest?”

“The car.”

“Xuxi, _no._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments/kudos appreciated!


	9. space heater - noren - fluff

“I can’t get the heat to turn on,” Jeno groans into the phone, twisting the knob as far as it can go. It makes a pathetic clunk, fizzing for a full three seconds before it deflates of air entirely, breathing its last breath. “What did you do to it, Jaem?”

“Uh, I don’t know!” On the other end, Jeno hears the party going on at full volume. It’s some fresher welcome party Jaemin managed to get invited to, and Jeno doesn’t know _why_ for the life of his best friend, is he spending such a cold night out with a bunch of people he doesn’t know. “It hasn’t been working since last night!”

Which explains why Jeno woke up soaking his sheets in sweat.

“I talked to our new neighbor today!” He can barely here Jaemin now, “–6J! He said he has an extra space heater!”

“I’m not going over to some random stranger’s apartment for a space heater, Jaemin.”

“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to freeze.” At Jeno’s silence, he gives in, “Alright, alright, don’t be mad–I’ll pay for the new heater!”

“Yeah, you do that.”

*

Frankly speaking, if Jeno didn’t think his fingers were on the verge of turning into ice and falling off, he wouldn’t be standing here, in front of apartment 6J, at one in the morning. He knocks twice, softly so that he wouldn’t have his hand break from his body. Thankfully, the door opens before he thinks to knock again, and Jeno can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes when a flood of warmth rushes out the door.

“Uh, hi.”

Jeno comes to his senses. The boy before him stands, a small frame and a small face, everything about him was small, Jeno thinks, brain too frozen to come up with a better way to describe him. He opens his mouth and closes it a few times, wrestling to find the right words to, _Hi. I am really cold. Can I please have your spare heater?_

“You’re Jeno, right?”

Jeno stops thinking, “Yes. I am.”

“Right,” the boy eyes him warily now, like he’s unsure if Jeno were actually Jeno. “I talked to your roommate earlier today, Jaemin? He told me he broke the radiator in your apartment last night. Said he turned the knob to high.”

Jeno makes a mental note to wrangle Jaemin by the neck for not telling him earlier today. He could’ve gotten it replaced–then he wouldn’t be stuck in his predicament.

“Yeah,” Jeno shuffles his feet, unthinkingly swaying close to the threshold of apartment 6J. It just feels so much _warmer_ in here. He tugs his comforter closer around himself; it’s been trailing behind him like an oversized cape. “Sorry, I wouldn’t be bothering you about a heater if it wasn’t this cold–and I’ve already got on three sweaters and four pairs of socks, I don’t think I can get any warmer than this.”

“That’s okay,” the boy smiles. He simply blinks at Jeno for a moment. Then, “Do you want to come in for a bit?”

Jeno can’t feel his face, “What?”

“I–it’s just–” the boy squints, stepping out into the hall to take a closer look at Jeno, “You look really cold–like, your lips are purple.”

Jeno touches them, finding that they’re almost as cold as the tips of his fingers.

“Here,” the boy steps aside, opens the door for Jeno to come through. He nods encouragingly when Jeno hesitates, “I’d rather you camp out here for a bit than have you freeze over in your apartment waiting for the heater to work.”

It takes only a breeze sweeping down the hall to have Jeno jump into the warm confines of this boy’s apartment, whispering a _thank you_ as he went.

“I’m Renjun, by the way,” he says, before Jeno gets to ask. “Might as well get acquainted while you’re here.”

Jeno nods, “I’m Jeno.”

Renjun breaks into a smile, “I know.” _Right_. He’d mentioned that earlier. Renjun shows him to the living room and gestures for him to sit wherever’s comfortable, so Jeno takes the corner of the couch accordingly, noticing the movie paused on Renjun’s laptop. “Do you want some tea?”

Although not exactly Jeno’s favorite drink, he’d take anything to thaw his insides, “Yes, please.”

Renjun returns with a warm mug, and Jeno takes it gratefully. He settles on the floor, by where Jeno’s legs are curled up to his chest, saying as he gets comfy, “I was watching a movie, I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no,” Jeno watches from behind Renjun’s shoulder, “Not at all.”

Renjun hits _play_ and Jeno doesn’t leave until the sun rises. Maybe it’s the movies Renjun keeps recommending, or the moment Renjun moves to settle on the other end of the couch, their legs brushing every now and then, or the warmth of the apartment that parallets the warmth Jeno feels whenever he looks at this new neighbor of his.

Whatever it is, Jeno doesn’t get the radiator replaced–he visits Renjun again, the following night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments/kudos appreciated!


	10. a dinner on friday - noren - fluff

If Jeno’s being honest, he’s not entirely sure he wants to be here tonight. As much as he loves and treasures the boy as his best friend, holy shit–the guy had way too many friends. The Airbnb Minhyung’d rented out for his birthday is most definitely going to be wrecked by morning. Supposedly, he’d wanted a quiet dinner for his birthday party, but when Xuxi and Dejun showed up at the door with two kegs of Corona and a laundry hamper of Absolut– Jeno knows there’s no way Minhyung’s getting his security deposit back.

“What am I going to do?” Minhyung is worrying now, as they stand in the kitchen to watch the party unfold right before their eyes. Xuxi and Jaemin have one of Minhyung’s friends chugging straight from the keg, cheering him on, even with foam dripping down the sides of his mouth. “What am I going to do?”

Jeno takes a small sip from whatever concoction Yangyang’d brewed with their array of orange juice and gin and vodka, cringing inwardly at the smell, “Just let it happen, man. I don’t think you can do anything to stop this from happening. Did you see Yangyang? He was carrying two bottle of Jack in his arms, telling everyone to say hi to his newborn set of twins.”

“Oh my god,” Minhyung buries his head in his hands. Then he reaches for Jeno’s disgusting drink and takes a big gulp of it, “I can’t have this dinner go to shit, Jeno. I invited Donghyuck tonight.”

That’s news. “Donghyuck?”

“Yes.” Minhyung wails, “I thought it’d be a chance to finally, you know–” “Grow a pair and talk to him?”

“Jeno.”

“Sorry.” He takes another sip, then downs the rest. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t have finished the drink, but the thought of their long night has Jeno reconsidering.

“You’ll be fine, Min, it’s not like it’s going to be that bad–”

“No! Xi! Those are my children!”

They turn to see Xuxi wrestling one of Yangyang’s beloved Jacks, twisting the cap off and taking a dangerously large sip.

Minhyung turns to him. Deadpanned, “You were saying?” Jeno shrugs, “God have mercy on us all.”

He loses sight of Minhyung a half hour after their conversation. He’s promised to alert the birthday boy if he saw Donghyuck–Minhyung’s crush of two painful, painful, long months–but he doesn’t spot neither of them. Though, he hasn’t exactly left his safe spot by the kitchen. Several people have come in and out for water, or a space to make out in, but Jeno doesn’t budge. If his memories of freshmen year serve him well, he did not do well partying.

Plus, if Minhyung was off doing birthday shots, someone was going to have to stay sober to make sure they don’t burn the entire house down.

“–I don’t know, okay? It’s a shitty party.”

Jeno looks from up his phone–he’d turned to watching cat videos to pass the time–watching this new stranger enter the kitchen. His back is to Jeno; he doesn’t seem to have noticed Jeno yet, still speaking into his phone,

“It’s because he likes the birthday boy, ge.” Jeno’s ears perk up, “Otherwise I’d have left the moment we saw that ridiculous keg set-up by the front door.” The stranger balks, “What was I supposed to do? Drag Hyuck out of here? You know how he’s been looking for this, I can’t–”

The stranger turns, jumps when he sees Jeno squeezed in the corner of the kitchen. At the sight of his face (though colored with surprise), Jeno pieces the conversation together–he knows Renjun, only briefly as one of Donghyuck’s friends.

“I’ll call you back.”

Jeno pauses the cat video on his phone, waiting for Renjun to speak. He must know that Jeno’s overhead his conversation, He likes the birthday boy, and no doubt that must’ve been a secret.

“You’re Jeno, right? Minhyung’s friend?” Jeno nods.

“About what I said,” Renjun circles the kitchen counter. Jeno doesn’t know why his throat dries up. Maybe it’s the way Renjun’s shirt is unbuttoned, the top two undone to expose the pale skin there. “About Donghyuck and–your friend–”

“I won’t tell him.” Renjun, for the most part, doubts that. So Jeno says, “If it helps, Minhyung–he–”

“I know,” Renjun says. He amends, “Or at least, I’ve guessed just as much.”

“Okay.” Jeno’s hands sweat, he doesn’t know where else to look but straight at Renjun, “I’m– sorry the party sucks.”

Renjun’s smile, dear god, Jeno’s heart stops.

“Actually–I think it might have just taken a turn for the better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments appreciated!


	11. secretary - yujae - fluff

Jaehyun startles in his seat when the door to their office slams open. Mainly because it’s a glass door and it’s not _supposed_ to be slammed open. His boss, however, seems to have no regard at all for this piece of information, and he’s storming past the rows of cubicles, straight for his office at the end of the giant working area. Another door (thankfully wooden, this time) is slammed shut and the echoes of it reverberates off the walls.

The office is silent, sans the sounds of the AC unit running.

“You’re up, lover boy.” Youngho says this while peeking over the top of Jaehyun’s cubicle, looking just like a floating head, “Meeting must have gone south.”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes, “I wish you’d stop calling me that.”

“What? Lover boy?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Would you like me to refer to you properly as Nakamoto-Yuta’s-personal secretary-slash-boyfriend-whenever-required?”

He gives Youngho a deathly stare, but listens anyway, grabbing his phone and lanyard off his desk, “You know he’d kill you if he ever heard you say that.”

Youngho shrugs, “I’m not going to tell him. Are you?”

 _One day, I might_ , Jaehyun thinks. But he shoves the thought out of his mind when Youngho sends him two thumbs-up, and he steels his heart, pushing the door open to Yuta’s personal office.

He’s pacing around his large work desk, surrounded by waist-high stacks of papers, muttering to himself under his breath. Jaehyun closes the door quietly, but even then, there’s a click that Yuta ignores, focusing instead on shrugging off his jacket and loosening his tie.

Slowly, Jaehyun approaches, “Baby?”

“–can’t _believe_ these old farts would think I’d use my connections like that! What the hell? Are they all on the same brand of dumbass medication because I swear to god if I have to answer to them again, I _swear_ –”

Jaehyun clears his throat, “People outside can hear you–”

“I don’t care, Jaehyun!” Yuta yanks his tie off, and Jaehyun winces. It was the one he’d bought Yuta while on their third date. “We’ve all been working so hard on this, Jae, and they have the audacity to _assume_ that I’d been using my father’s networks for this? Like I haven’t been putting in any effort of my own?”

“Okay, okay,” Jaehyun drops his phone onto the couch and rounds the table to extend his hands for Yuta to take. He merely stares at them disdainfully, still steaming with anger. “You know they’re wrong,” he says quietly, trying to bring the tension of the room down along with his voice, “You worked hard on this. I know you did, everyone does.”

“But _they_ don’t know, Jaehyun.” Yuta turns away, “That’s what’s frustrating.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, helpless. If he were in any higher position than a measly secretary, he’d march right up there to the top offices to demand they listen to Yuta, but when it comes to hierarchy here in the company–Yuta’s already almost nearing the top. In spite of that, he seems to have as many trials as Jaehyun does, if not, more.

Yuta sighs, presses his fingers to his temples, “It’s not your fault, Jaehyun.”

“But tell me what I can do to make it better.” He reaches again for Yuta, smiling when his love doesn’t turn away. Slowly, he maneuvers Yuta to rest against his chest, holding him close, “Or at least–what I can do to help.”

“Take the rest of the day off.” Yuta doesn’t return the hug, “Come home with me.”

Jaehyun snorts, kissing Yuta’s crown gently, “You know I can’t do that. I still have to get through papers from our previous client.”

“You asked what you could do.”

“I meant like–getting you a coffee,” Jaehyun grins when he feels Yuta’s hands slowly rest on his hips. “Or a bagel. Or some fries from that burger place you like so much.” He doesn’t hear an answer, and it’s enough to be read as disapproval, “I’ll just see you at home, baby.”

Yuta sighs, pulling away from Jaehyun to card his fingers through his hair, “I’m not going home.”

Jaehyun frowns, “Why not? If you need the rest, you should–”

Yuta stares at him like he’s asked the world’s most superfluous question. “Why would I go home if you’re here?” Jaehyun gapes like a fish for a good minute. “Anyway, I told Mr. Lee I’d finish up on looking through a couple of reports before business hours today, so I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to.”

Yuta sighs once more, stepping away for his desk chair, but before he can sit, Jaehyun cradles him by the back of his neck, kissing him softly. He doesn’t fight it, melting against Jaehyun, melting into his touch. They kiss until it’s far too obvious to everyone else in the office that they’re doing nothing but talk about the meeting, so Jaehyun breaks the kiss and Yuta chases for one more.

“We could go out for dinner tonight,” Jaehyun tells him, tucking away an invisible strand of hair behind Yuta’s ear. “Whatever you want.”

Yuta grabs onto Jaehyun’s tie and tugs him close, speaks against his lips, “Sounds good, baby.” And before he lets Jaehyun go, “But now, about those fries you mentioned…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments appreciated!


	12. punch - johnil - fluff

“This isn’t really my sort of thing, Taeyong.”

Taeyong ignores this, focused on carrying the two obnoxiously large cups of beer in his hands. They’re generously filled to the brim, though Taeil doesn’t know whether that’s to be in his favor for the rest of the night.

“Oh, hush,” he’s told. “That’s exactly what you said last week about seeing that live band after work, but if I remember correctly–you very thoroughly enjoyed yourself.”

“That’s different.” Taeil ducks when a guy walking past raises a hand to greet a friend, nearly thwacking Taeil off his feet, “This is a whole different scene, Yong.”

“It’s just a _fair,_ Taeil.” Taeyong hands him one of the beers, once they’re in the clear of flying hands and knobby elbows. He takes a sip, eyes wide as they survey the rows after rows of booths showcasing a variety of–well, Taeil doesn’t know exactly what this is. “Doyoung’s team did the advertising for the event and we’re here to be supportive. Besides,” he cordially takes a flyer handed to him by a boy selling handmade ceramic bowls, “it’s nice to learn about other cultures we have here on campus.”

“Ah, is that what this is?” The drink in his hand sloshes around, so Taeil takes a quick sip, “And here I thought you were just dragging me to another random event in the city just so you could see Doyoung for a maximum of two minutes.”

Taeyong sends him a look, but Taeil doesn’t back down because it’s _true_. And as much as he would like to disguise his efforts as a way to get Taeil out of the house more, they both know it’s just a ploy for Taeyong to use; an excuse to visit whatever event Doyoung’s working at, his sole motivation.

“I don’t do that, I genuinely–oh my god. There he is.”

And Taeyong is off before Taeil can even turn to look which direction he’s speeding off too. Dejectedly, he continues his slow walk down the exhibition hall filled with chatter and music and laughter and whatever it is Taeil can’t all that register. He’s too busy feeling self-conscious over the fact that his best friend’s just left him all alone in some fair-slash-marketplace.

_Where the hell is he? Did he really just leave me–_

“Hey there!”

Taeil startles to a stop, spilling a little of his beer down the front of his shirt in the process.

“Oh, shit, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Taeil looks up from the wet spot on his chest to the brownest brown eyes he’s ever seen. In the weird ambient lighting of the hall, the stranger’s face is shadowed with a pinkish hue. He stares at Taeil, eyes running up and down, “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to scare you.”

“That’s fine,” Taeil tells him. Although the small spot of wetness on his chest is getting colder every second and it does nothing to help how nervous he already is, being alone.

“Wait, I think we have some tissues back here.”

And it’s then that Taeil finds himself staring very _very_ inappropriately at this stranger’s ass. It’s covered by an unacceptably thin layer of what looks like silk, his shorts ending midway the backs of his thighs, revealing an expanse of smooth skin Taeil thinks he might just start drooling over.

“Here,” the stranger (and his face) returns. For a moment, Taeil thinks the worst is over (staring at a stranger’s ass), but then he’s met with the most ridiculously handsome face he’s ever seen and dear _gods_ –he will never complain about Taeyong dragging him out on weekends ever again. “I’m sorry, I just saw you walking by and I wanted to hand you a flyer.”

Taeil accepts the handful of tissues and pats at the spot uselessly. He feigns interest at whatever the sign on the booth says, having nowhere else to look at, “It’s okay, really–I, uh–what are you promoting?”

The stranger’s eyes brighten, “We’re a Muay Thai club! It’s a form of boxing, like combat sport, and we spar against each other during trainings and internal competitions.” He waves the flyer in his hands, “It’s a really good workout.”

“Right.” Taeil doesn’t know quite what to think about people throwing punches at one another for good sport.

“It’s not completely violence,” the stranger reassures him. Taeil flushes at how his face must’ve been so easily read, “If you want, we have a introductory session during the later part of the event today–you could come and watch, if you’ve the time?”

Somewhere in the back of Taeil’s mind, a nagging voice reminds him that he will never survive joining a club like this. But a louder voice takes the reigns and it’s telling him that he really wants to see this stranger again. This stranger and his black silk shorts and honey thighs. _Jesus._

“Uh, sure.” Taeil doesn’t know what the hell he’s getting himself into, “I could come by later.”

The stranger grins, “That’s great!” He leans back over the table once again and Taeil has to force himself to look away before his ears fly off his head. The strangers retrieves his phone and holds it for Taeil to take, “Could I get your number? Just so I can text you about our training session later?”

Just the thought of going against someone in a physical fight as Taeil needing to hurl. But, _honey thighs_. He takes the phone and keys his number in at an expeditious speed.

“My name’s Youngho, by the way.”

“Taeil.”

“Well, then–it’s nice to meet you, Taeil.”

And as he’s about to leave, Taeil stops again, careful this time not to have any beer spill on him. Youngho looks at him expectantly and Taeil loses himself in the softness of Youngho’s dark hair before he finds words, “Aren’t you–going to give me a flyer or something?”

“Truth be told,” Youngho grins, pearly whites peeking from behind his plush lips, “I just really wanted to get your number.”

Taeil will _never_ complain about being dragged out of bed again. Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments appreciated!


	13. tuesday mornings/library - noren - fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> related to [chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47213029)

More than any other room in the Academy, Renjun finds himself most often in the library. It’s rows after rows of shelves stuffed to the brim with books, lined with papers citing history and medicine and everything Renjun hadn’t ever dreamed to think of. He coops himself in there most days, reading page after page about this new dimension of life he’s so wildly thrown into.

The past few days have been hectic–Jeno and Donghyuck saving him from Creatures, Jeno taking him back to the Academy where they faced the wrath of Yuta for going out without permission, Jeno showing him around the Academy and getting him settled in.

 _Jeno._

Renjun exhales softly, blinking the vision of a certain blonde haired boy out of his eyes.

There’s no reason for him to be daydreaming about Jeno, certainly not while trying to read up on the magics of plants and its various roots. There’s no reason for him to be thinking about the way Jeno hadn’t let his hand go, not even when they were standing in front of Jaehyun and Youngho (under his breath, Donghyuck tells him that they’re their supervisors), not even when they were alone in the halls twisting through the Academy, not until Renjun found them in what is to be his room for the night. 

“You’ll be safe here,” Jeno had told him. He showed Renjun the closet and the adjacent bathroom, “If you need anything else, Donghyuck’s room is two doors down from the left of here.”

Maybe it’s the leftover adrenaline that had Renjun asking, “What about you?”

Jeno’s lips had twitched, threatening to pull up into a smile. “I live in a different wing,” he leaned against one of the bed posts, “but you’ll see me in the morning at breakfast. I don’t know if Youngho’s going to let you join us tomorrow during training, but I think he’ll have Kun fill you in on everything.”

Or maybe it’s the odd attachment he’s formed with Jeno. After all, the boy _did_ save him. Twice. “Will you be there?”

Jeno did well to hide his surprise. Softly, he murmured, “If you want me to be there, I will.”

Renjun shudders at the memory now. That night, he’d thought over his words, realizing that maybe Jeno didn’t want to be there. That maybe he’d just been tasked by whoever to first take care of Renjun, to save Renjun from the Creatures–and that should be all. It wasn’t like he had to be there for Renjun, to walk Renjun through whatever this is that’s now happening to him. It wasn’t like he wanted to. He’d waved Jeno off that morning when the boy came traipsing up to him, asking if he still needed company for his meeting with Kun. 

Renjun didn’t want to admit that Jeno’s familiar face would do good in helping his heart stay in his chest.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Renjun, despite knowing who it is (because who else would be looking for him, if not Jeno?), still bolts upright, frigtened by the sudden presence of someone else by his shoulder.

“Sorry.” Jeno slides into the seat across Renjun, carrying a plate piled with toast and eggs. There’re some cherry tomatoes and mushrooms, and even a handful of orange slices. “Didn’t see you at breakfast today.”

“Right.” Renjun clears his throat, accepting the fork and knife Jeno offers him. He continues when Jeno looks on, expectant of an explaination, “I just wanted to do some reading.”

“On a Tuesday morning?” Jeno shifts Renjun’s opened book to the side, pushes the plate closer to Renjun. “Doesn’t Kun have you reading enough during practice hours?”

“It couldn’t hurt,” Renjun says. He takes a bite of the scrambled eggs, “I mean, I don’t exactly know what world this is I’m in now–it couldn’t hurt to know more.”

Jeno seems to accept that, “Fair point.”

And then it’s silence once more. Renjun’s cheeks and neck grow hot; from his peripheral, he knows Jeno is watching him eat, unspeaking, unmoving. Distantly, he wonders if Jeno’s always been like this–almost like a solider. He was always in his uniform, all black from head to toe, weapons lining his belt, as if he were constantly ready for a fight against a Creature, or anything that threatens to come his way.

At some point, Renjun can’t take the silence. He clears his throat, “You don’t have to be here, you know?” Jeno blinks once, owlishly, “I can take care of myself.”

Jeno’s head tilts, “Do you think I’m only here because I think I _have_ to be?”

Renjun swallows thickly, “Why else would you be there?”

“Because I want to be.”

 _God._ “You–want to be here?”

“I do.” Jeno breaks out of his perfect posture, resting his elbows against the desk and leaning forward, “You really don’t remember me, do you?”

Renjun can’t think, “What do you mean?”

Jeno stares at him. Stares like he can’t figure if Renjun’s lying or not, like he can’t figure if he should say any more on the matter, like he can’t figure how he should feel about Renjun not remembering him. He stares, and a look of disappointment crosses his face ever so briefly.

Then he stands, “Nothing.” He looks away, and Renjun can’t move fast enough to stop him from leaving because _Wait, Jeno–where should I know you from? Why don’t I remember you?_ Jeno looks over his shoulder on the way out, eyes downcast, “See you around, Jun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments appreciated!


	14. hogwarts au - johnil - fluff

“I’m going to ask him.”

“Okay, go.”

“I really am going to ask him.”

“ _Okay_ , go then.”

“I will.”

Youngho hears Yuta snort, rolling over to lie on his stomach, following Youngho’s line of sight to the group of seventh years sitting not far from them. There are at least five of them under the old oak tree, on a mustard yellow picnic mat, a spread of snacks between them.

“Are you planning on walking over there or are you just going to shout it across the great lawn? Because I’d pay good money to see you embarrass yourself infront of everyone here.”

“You’re mean before lunch, you know,” Youngho grumbles. He wrings the bouquet of flowers tightly in his hands, “Okay, I’m going to ask him.”

“I don’t see why you’re worried, Youngho. Taeil’s not going to say _no_ –haven’t you already spoken to him a couple of times? He likes you back, doesn’t he?”

“Well, I don’t _know_. This is the Yule Ball, Yuta.” Youngho Charms the flowers to look as good as new, “It’s basically prom at Hogwarts, isn’t it?”

“Don’t use your Muggle terms with me,” Yuta scoffs. He rolls again to lie on his back, hands tucked under his head, “But yeah–it’s something like prom.”

Youngho casts him a side glance, “You don’t look too worried.”

“Why should I be?” Yuta closes his eyes, “I already have a date.”

“And you didn’t _tell_ me, Yuta, what–”

“Oh, look. They’re leaving.”

That has Youngho scrambling to his feet. True enough, Taeil and his group of Hufflepuff friends are already halfway across the lawn, their snacks floating in the air behind them. Bracing himself, Youngho jogs up to them, heart thundering so loud in his ears that there might as well be a storm approaching.

“–and then _she_ said–”

“Taeil.”

Youngho speaks far before his heart is ready to face Taeil and his heart-shaped lips and his hazel eyes and everything that haunts Youngho every night in his dreams. His throat closes up immediately when Taeil turns, surprise evident; the other Hufflepuffs stare for a good two seconds before clearing their throats and awkwardly announcing their departure.

“Hey, Youngho.” Taeil’s eyes dart to the bouquet in Youngho’s death grip, “What’s up?”

“I–” Youngho can’t _speak._ “I–I–”

Taeil winces at his blabbering, and the smile that breaks free is one definitely of pity. “Did you–want to ask me something?”

“I– _yes_.” Youngho tugs at the collar of his shirt, positively sweating enough to get through to his scarlet red robes. At the back of his mind, Yuta’s derisive voice scoffs, _I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave?_ “I wanted to ask you. Something. Yes.”

Taeil doesn’t laugh, though the shine in his eyes tells Youngho’s he’s not all that far from losing that resolve. Quietly, “Did it–have anything to do with the flowers you have there?”

Youngho loses his mind, “Yes. _Yes._ ” Dumbly, “These. Are flowers. Yes.”

Silence once more, and Youngho can actually hear the sound of his own heart dropping straight through his stomach and settling down in his gut. Taeil, however, an angel of all angels, seems to think that they’re never going to make it to the end of the conversation with all of Youngho’s fumbling,

“Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?”

In a distance, Youngho’s sanity rockets off into space. He gapes, “No.” Taeil’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, “I mean–yes. _Yes_ , of course I will, but I was–” he wrangles the flowers in front of Taeil’s nose, nearly impaling him with them, “I was going to ask you. To come. With me.”

“I figured,” Taeil says. He reaches for the flowers and takes Youngho’s disgustingly clammy hand in his, unbothered by it all, “But I have a class in fifteen minutes that I really can’t be late for, and I wanted to yes to you before someone else came by to ask you.”

Youngho stares, “I–no one’s going to ask me.”

“Trust me,” Taeil laughs, light and airy, honey to Youngho’s ears. “Loads of people want to take you to the ball, Youngho.” He holds the flowers away and goes on his tiptoes to kiss Youngho chastely on the cheek, “But you’re coming with me, aren’t you?”

“I am.” Youngho thinks he’s gone mad; he wants to kiss Taeil _terribly_.

“Great,” Taeil grins, plopping down and pulling away. His cheeks are pink and Youngho thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. “Will you come with me to Hogsmeade this weekend? To get an outfit for the ball?”

 _A date this weekend_ and _a date to the Yule Ball._ Youngho’s used up all of his luck for the year. He nods jerkily, “Of course, yes. Yes. Sure.”

Taeil watches him for a second, then laughs, bringing a hand up to hide his smile behind the sleeve of his robe, “You’re really cute, you know?”

Forget about this lifetime, Youngho’s used up all of his luck for the rest of his lifetime and the next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments appreciated!


	15. celebrity au - nohyuck - fluff

Jeno would like to think he’s smarter than this. Smarter than walking down this exact same street at least four times over, smarter than fumbling with the loose change in his pocket, smarter than hesitating over an action so menial, one that he can’t possibly mess up. Silently, he sends a quick _thank you_ to the gods, having shook Jaemin and Jisung off in the mall nearby; if they were here, they would _never_ let him live this down.

But he can’t–help it.

The busker’s voice drifts high into the night, the sound of it lighting the streets better than any streetlight can. It’s accompanied sweetly by the clean strums of his guitar, coloring the night with its beauty.

 _Lee Jeno. You’re old enough to know just how to drop coins into a busker’s hat. You can do this. It’s easy. Just walk up there and do it. See? That kid just did it. Oh_ god _, he’s smiling._

The thing is–this isn’t just any old street busker with a guitar and an enchanting voice. This is Lee Donghyuck–the street busker Jeno’s been specially leaving home to watch, trying his luck every single day to catch him sing for a good forty-five minutes or so. More often than not, he would find Lee Donghyuck on the same corner with his black guitar case set before him for tips.

(By the end of the night, it’s typically filled with notes and coins and even _letters_ , Jeno thinks.)

And every night, Jeno would take a safe spot far from the inner circle of passersby, equally enthralled in his talent. He would hide his face away under the shelter of the building nearby, because, well–it can’t be too normal for Lee Donghyuck to see Jeno’s face in the crowd night after night. That would be too weird, Jeno thought, it would be way too obvious. (Jaemin and Jisung readily agreed to this.)

Just as the song trails off to its end now, Jeno berates himself for wasting all this time arguing with himself when he could be peacefully hidden in his spot, listening to the music pierce through the air and settle low in his heart.

It’s borderline pathetic, Jeno knows. But Lee Donghyuck’s basically a _celebrity_ by now; he’s got a following on Instagram and on Youtube, tons of people come out just to see him (though, they have undeniably more courage than Jeno does), and he’s honestly better than half actual celebrities out there (but that could just be Jeno’s heart talking).

And Jeno. Jeno is an undergraduate architecture student with three cats he’s dangerously allergic to and a simply boy with too much a love for whole milk. Jeno is–just Jeno.

_Screw it._

Readying his nerves, Jeno slips through the crowd of passersby and enters barrier between Lee Donghyuck and the crowd of onlookers. All at once, he feels his skin light on fire at the sudden gripping fear that everyone– _everyone_ –is looking at him.

This includes Lee Donghyuck himself.

He’s standing behind the mic stand, phone in his hand as he searches for the chords to his next song, and Jeno, in that moment, loses it. Lee Donghyuck is watching him with an odd look on his face and Jeno frets at the possibility of leftover _jajangmyeon_ sauce on the side of his lips.

“I–” Jeno shoves his hand roughly into his pocket and unwittingly pulls out a wad of bills instead of the several coins he’d prepared beforehand. Lee Donghyuck’s eyes widen at the amount and Jeno’s does too–he’d dug through the _wrong_ pocket.

Lee Donghyuck glances around. He looks back at Jeno again, and covers the microphone to say, “Hey, that’s like, a _lot_ of money.”

Jeno’s airway cuts off. There must be at least a hundred dollars in his hand. There’s no universe out there that Jeno can possibly spare this amount of money on a busker, even if it _is_ Lee Donghyuck.

“Yes.” A hot flush of embarrassment rolls through him, “I’m sorry.”

“Whoa, what?” Lee Donghyuck steps away from the microphone, steps closer to Jeno. _Oh my–_ “Are you–okay? You look like you’re–sweating. A lot.”

Yes. Sweat. How attractive. So attractive. So, so, _so_ attractive.

“Sorry,” Jeno stuffs the bills back into his pocket, eyes focused only on Lee Donghyuck’s red converse. “Sorry, I was just going to–”

“Why do you keep apologizing?”

Whispers. Jeno hears them. Because for why would Lee Donghyuck stop in the middle of his set to speak to some oddball audience member. He wouldn’t. Whispers, once more.

Jeno chews on the inside of his cheek, “Sorry, I should just go–”

And as he turns to leave, a hand circles around his elbow, “Hey, wait a second.” Fingers calloused, but soft, cool against the blazing heat of Jeno’s skin, “I recognize you.”

Jeno’s heart turns into ice, “You–do?”

Lee Donghyuck shrugs, his plump lips forming the cutest pout, _heavens above._ “You’re not all that hard to miss when you’re always standing in that corner of yours. Not to mention the fact that you’re–directly under the light.”

Jeno’s neck cricks when he whirls around to look and truth be told–he’d been so focused on squeezing himself into the dark and tiny corner of the building entrance that he’d missed noticing the brightest light coming from the nearby streetlight. Sincerely, Jeno wishes the ground would split open and consume him whole.

“Here–rich boy,” Jeno hasn’t the time to correct him because Lee Donghyuck is flipping his hand over and placing a neatly folded note in it. He looks at Jeno pointedly, but all Jeno can think about is how intoxicating Lee Donghyuck smells from this close–like strawberries and cream. “My number’s on there. Call me, and maybe save your money for our date instead, hey?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments appreciated!


	16. getaway - noren - fluff, kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> undoubtedly inspired from dream's [boom](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-iJZ0gfKPo) mv!

“Where are you?”

The line crackles, “The parking complex. I’m on fourth.”

Renjun takes the stairs two at a time. His duffel bag is heavy enough to weigh his entire frame down, but the adrenaline beats it, forcing him up the stairs with unprecedented speed. The orange walls blur as he runs up the final flight, the door swinging open with a hard push.

Instantly, he spots Jeno. It’s not hard to, especially with his freshly dyed blonde hair and the flashy car he’s leaning against. The glossy red paint is nothing but eye-catching, and Renjun finds himself hurrying over towards–though more interested in the boy that’s about to drive it.

At the sound of his heavy footsteps, Jeno looks up, breaking into a wide grin. Renjun slows at that, feeling the corners of his own lips turning up into a smile.

He jerks his head towards the car, “Fancy.”

Jeno pushes himself off the side of it, already reaching to curve a hand around Renjun’s waist, “It was the only one the car rental place had left.”

Renjun raises his brows in question because there’s no way that could be true. A car like this–Jeno must’ve paid extra to have it for their little trip. He’d been talking about how he wanted their weekend getaway to be special, about how he’d worked enough shifts at the bookstore to take Renjun on a _nice_ trip–as much as Renjun insisted that it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that he was going to spend the next seventy-two hours with Jeno.

He doesn’t question further for now, tossing his bag into the backseat of the convertible and turning to award his full attention to his boyfriend once more.

“What did you pack in there?” Jeno asks, noting the heavy _thud_ that sounded when Renjun’s duffel dropped. “We’re only staying at the hotel for two nights, you know?”

“I know.” Renjun twists to rest against the side of the car now, pulling Jeno to stand before him. Jeno abides, curling his arms around Renjun and hovering over him, “I think I overpacked.”

“I think you most certainly did.”

Renjun frowns, but he doesn’t wait to kiss Jeno, having missed him over their long week apart. With his clinical rotations and placements, Renjun hadn’t been able to see Jeno as much as he’d like to–and this trip has been the only thing that’s gotten him through the week.

Jeno kisses back, a pleased noise escaping the back of his throat when Renjun moves to wind his arms around Jeno’s neck. He slips his fingers through the short hairs on the back of Jeno’s neck, distantly wishing Jeno’d left it a little longer–it’d always been one of Renjun’s habits to play with Jeno’s hair when they were sitting or hugging or cuddling in bed.

Renjun breaks them apart when he feels his bottom lip turn numb, and he so very nearly passes out when Jeno chases for his lips and another kiss once more. Gently, he rests his forehead against Jeno’s, breathing in every one of Jeno’s exhales.

“You’ve no idea,” he says, watching Jeno grow dazed at the sight of his lips, “just how quickly I wanted this weekend to come.”

Jeno licks his lips, “I think I could take a guess.”

“You probably could.”

Renjun lets his hands slide down Jeno’s sides, hands digging into where Jeno’s white shirt is tucked in neatly. He pulls Jeno closer and kisses him again, inching down the side of the car to have Jeno loom over him, to have Jeno envelope him in just _Jeno_. He turns into goo, melting under Jeno’s simple touch, under his lips, and there’s a voice in his heart that tells him they should just stand here and spend the rest of the day kissing because, really–Renjun can’t think of anything that would sound better.

“We should.” Jeno says this when Renjun tells him of his master plan. “We should just stay here today.”

“What should we do about the car then?” Renjun dizzies at Jeno’s stare, the ardor intoxicating. He steadies Jeno, a hand cupping the smooth curve of Jeno’s cheek. “Or our hotel bookings?”

“I don’t know.” Jeno says between kisses, “I don’t care–as long as you’re here.”

“Sap.” But Renjun is smiling into their kisses, teeth knocking into Jeno when he does, “I love you.”

Jeno pulls back to make a show of rolling his eyes, “Who’s the sap now?”

Renjun makes a face at the sudden space between them, “It’s still you.”

“Says the boy who’s probably packed candles and lotion in that huge duffel bag of his.”

Renjun blushes, “ _Lotion–”_

“Like sunscreen.” The smug look on Jeno’s face is enough to wipe Renjun’s smile of his own, “For when we visit the beach, right? Or,” he narrows his eyes, “what did you think I was talking about?”

“Nothing.” Renjun hardens his gaze, “Nothing at all.”

Jeno bites on his lower lip to keep from laughing, but he placates with, “I love you, baobei.” And it’s cheating, really, because Renjun can’t even pretend to stay mad at the loving term of endearment. “I’m the sap, the biggest sap,” and it isn’t Jeno if he doesn’t add, “For you, that is.”

Renjun shakes his head and kisses Jeno once more, just to make sure the boy doesn’t see how ridiculously exhilarated he is from just the simplest things Jeno tells him,

“I love you too, you big sap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments appreciated!


	17. superheroes - dotae - angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: mentions of death, no actual death

“Jung Jaehyun. Present. Kim Doyoung. Present.”

At the sound of his name, Doyoung breathes through his nose and tries not to fog up the mask before the oxygen kicks in. The tips of his fingers are buzzing with electricity and it takes every single fiber in his body to keep himself from exploding out of this ridiculously expensive space suit Taeil specially made for him.

“Nakamoto Yuta. Present. Seo Youngho. Present.”

The mechanical voice is the only thing playing in his mind. He should be hearing it now, just like he always has, like he thought he would forever. He needs to hear it again. It can’t possibly be that he’d never hear this again– _Lee Taeyong. Present._

The static in his hands intensify, paralleling the anxiousness in his heart. He shouldn’t have told him go, he shouldn’t have left him alone. It didn’t matter that they couldn’t agree on an action plan, it didn’t matter that they were already fighting before the mission started. Nothing could ever matter enough for Doyoung to have turned his back on Taeyong while they were both alone on war ground.

“Lee Taeyong. Location: unknown.”

All at once, the _guilt_ seizes Doyoung by the throat–

“We’re going to find him,” he hears. It’s Youngho speaking into the intercoms, voice clear right by his ears. He motions for Taeil to ready Doyoung’s suit first. With a soft hissing sound, Doyoung feels his lungs open up and he drinks it in, trying to stave off the lightheadedness threatening to overcome him.

Doyoung dares not speak.

“We will,” Youngho tells him. Even through the helmet, his voice still carries kindness. It makes Doyoung feel worse; it must be taking Youngho patience–speaking to the boy that’d lost his best friend, all because of a petty fight.

Doyoung wants to apologize, wants to say something, do _anything_ that could help rectify his stupid mistake, his slip-up, but Yuta is stalking into the room then and all communication is cut off. Yuta doesn’t even breathe in Doyoung’s direction, his anger and hatred seeping through his suit–it’s well-deserved, Doyoung thinks. Taeyong was his best friend, his brother.

Taeyong _is_ his best friend. His brother.

_We’re going to find him._

And by god’s miraculous grace, they do. In an abandoned warehouse they had to fight their way through, storming the enemy-infested lair to find Taeyong strapped tight to a metal table. Doyoung’s heart broke in that instant and he loses his powers. He loses the electricity in his palms and there isn’t anything he can do but shove the brute off him with sheer force, making a beeline straight for Taeyong.

“No, no, no, no, _no_.” Taeyong lies, unmoving, so still Doyoung can’t be sure he’s still _breathing._ Without a second to spare, tears roll down his cheeks, soaking the collar of his protective inner armor. “No, no, _please_ , please, you can’t–you can’t be–”

“Doyoung, look out!”

The shot of laser misses his head by a hair, but he doesn’t care, he can’t–he thinks to shock Taeyong back to life with the electricity running through his own veins–

“We have to get him back to the ship.” Yuta is here now. His eyes are red around the rims, and he doesn’t spare Taeyong’s lifeless frame a glance–he can’t. He calls for Taeil to bring their ship in and for Jaehyun to call for backup. Sternly, “Jaehyun’s on the way. We have to go. Now.”

Doyoung doesn’t move, _can’t_ move.

“ _Now,_ Doyoung.”

Taeyong is–Taeyong is–he can’t leave him. He can’t, “I’m so sorry,” he cries, the hole in his heart gapes. Everything is lost. Doyoung has _nothing_ now. _This is all my fault, this is–_ “I’m so sorry, _please_ , you have to believe me,” he struggles to breathe, he doesn’t want to breathe anymore, “I didn’t mean to look away, I shouldn’t have–”

“You’re pretty dense for a superhero, aren’t you?” Yuta grabs him roughly by the arm, “He’s not _dead_ , Kim. Get a hold of yourself.”

He brings up Taeyong’s health stats, and Doyoung, even with his vision blurred from his tears, sees the sign on the screen clear enough–fourteen percent. _Fourteen percent._

“Jaehyun is coming down with a team of medics, but we have to go now before–”

“I can’t.” Doyoung yanks his arm away. He latches himself onto Taeyong, all fourteen percent that’s still living and breathing, _his_ Taeyong. “I won’t. I won’t leave him. I will never leave him again.”

Yuta glares at him, so hard that on some level, Doyoung thinks he isn’t past lighting Doyoung on fire with a snap of his fingers.

“I’m not moving.” Doyoung holds onto Taeyong, takes his hand and clasps their hands together, “I’m not leaving him.”

Yuta points his blade at Doyoung, speaking lowly, “It’s not on me if you die tonight. It’s not on me if Taeyong wakes up in the morning and you’re not there because you didn’t listen to me. It’s not on me, Kim.”

“Fine.” Doyoung pushes the blade away with the back of his gloved hand, feeling nothing, “It’s not on you.” Yuta grits his teeth; Doyoung doesn’t care, “But if I leave now–this will forever be on _me_. I will never forgive myself and I’d rather die than try to. I love him and I’m not leaving him again.” He squeezes their hands, hopes Taeyong would squeeze back, “I love him and I’m going to be right here to tell him just that when he wakes up.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments appreciated!


	18. limits/out of breath - markmin - angst

“His head’s actually going to fall right off if you keep staring at him like that.”

Minhyung doesn’t appreciate that, “It’s not.”

Renjun shrugs, but eases off, leaning back into the booth. He says nothing more, pulling out his phone probably to text Jeno to hurry back. Minhyung lets the guilt sink for about two seconds then lets it go–Renjun should know better than to tease him right now.

College bars are by far Minhyung’s least favorite place to hang out in. The music’s too loud and it’s _bad_ (obscure tracks no one can bump to), there’re way too many freshmen, and way too many people that predrank way too much for a college _bar_ –this isn’t a club.

This isn’t a club and yet the number of people clamoring over to dance with one Na Jaemin is ridiculous. The number of drinks that get shoved his way–laced with god knows what–is ridiculous. That smile on his face is ridiculous, and it’s _ridiculous_ how Minhyung hates it’s not a smile meant for him.

The whole night is ridiculous and Minhyung’s reached his limit.

“I’m going home.”

Renjun looks up from his phone, “What?” Minhyung takes his wallet out and leaves a ten to cover his pathetic drink, “Wait, Jeno’s been planning this dinner for weeks–you can’t just leave. He’s been wanting to for ages.”

“I’m sorry, Renjun, I just–really can’t be here right now.”

“Minhyung, wait, Jeno said–”

Minhyung turns to pick his bag up from the ground, moves hurried as he tries to just get the hell out of here. He’s sliding backwards out of the booth when the back of his head collides into a ridiculously sharp elbow.

“Sorry, I–”

The apology dies in his throat.

Big brown eyes and ridiculously soft pink hair. Minhyung’s heart weakens, crumbles, like it isn’t already in pieces. He glances at the two drinks in Jaemin’s hands and, over his shoulder, a squadron of strangers looking at the interaction unfold.

“Minhyung.”

And even that hurts. Looking at Jaemin hurts, watching him breathe hurts, but, standing so close and yet not being able to reach out and grab onto Jaemin’s hand–that hurts the most.

“I have to go.”

“Min, wait–”

Easily, Minhyung slips past the crowd and practically sprints for the exit, bursting through the front door and onto fall’s cold streets. He makes a left towards the station, _Just keep walking. Don’t do this to yourself, Lee Minhyung. You’re better than this–it’s over._

“Minhyung!”

Like hunted prey, Minhyung breaks into a run. He runs from Jaemin, from whatever Jaemin wants to say, from whatever Jaemin thinks he has to say, _I’m sorry we broke up, but let’s be friends? You’re my best friend, I can’t lose you._

But it’s, frankly, ridiculous for Minhyung to think he could ever outrun Jaemin, who stands taller with longer legs that covers Minhyung’s two strides with ease. That’s how he finds Jaemin passing him in a measly five seconds, skidding to a stop. Minhyung’s arms shoot out before he can run face first into Jaemin, unwittingly shoving him away.

“Sorry.” The apology is automatic, especially with that look on Jaemin’s face. Like he’s surprised Minhyung would reject him too, like he didn’t think Minhyung would. He’s out of breath from the short sprint; not at all because of Jaemin’s pretty brown eyes. “I have plans–I have to go.”

“Wait,” Jaemin’s lifts his hands, an act of surrender. Minhyung would believe it were so, if the boy before him hadn’t just smashed his heart into smithereens–less than four short days. “I know you’re having dinner with Jeno and Renjun tonight, I–I asked if I could come along. I wanted to talk to you.”

Minhyung speaks to the ground, “There’s nothing for us to talk about anymore.”

“Min, please–” Jaemin, _oh_ Jaemin. Minhyung thinks he’d give the boy anything he asked for, whatever he wanted. “Please don’t be like this, this isn’t what I meant when I said–”

“When you said you wanted to break up?” Minhyung hates how shocked Jaemin looks. As if he wasn’t the one that asked to in the first place, as if he wasn’t the one that brought a storm home, saying he had to think this– _us_ –over. It’d ended too cleanly–Jaemin had left without a backward glance and Minhyung couldn’t believe it. “What? Did you think it wouldn’t hurt when you said that?”

All this time he thought Jaemin _loved_ him.

“I never said–” Jaemin’s brows furrow together stepping closer, “I never said I wanted to break up–I said we should–take a break, I never said–”

“What’s the difference, Jaemin?” Minhyung stands his ground. He refuses to let Jaemin’s wide eyes and downturned lips shake his resolve. “You want a break, you want to break up–you were around so many people tonight and you knew I was watching. There’s no way you didn’t. You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“What? Minhyung–” The sound of his own name, he thinks, hurts most. “That’s not–I’m not interested in the people at the bar, they were just some random people that came up to me. They don’t mean anything to me–”

“Sorry,” Minhyung casts his eyes to concrete. “I have to go, I can’t be here–”

“I just want to talk, Minhyung,” Jaemin says, something like desperation lacing his voice. He puts his hand out like a peace offering, but Minhyung doesn’t want it. “Please just listen to me.”

“I can’t, Jaemin,” Minhyung backs away, “I–I thought–you said you loved me.”

Jaemin doubles forward, “I do love you, I _do_ –please don’t push me away. I never meant I wanted us to break up, I never meant that–you have to believe me–”

“I believe you. I know what you meant,” Minhyung refuses Jaemin’s hand. Refuses anything, everything. “And I’m giving you what you want.”

“This _isn’t_ what I want!” Jaemin’s face crumples and Minhyung feels it in his heart, “This isn’t what I want at all, I swear, please just,” he takes a shuddery breath, reaches for Minhyung again, “give me another chance.”

And Minhyung would want nothing more than that. He would want nothing more than answers–why did Jaemin say what he said and what did he really want? He would want nothing but to have Jaemin’s hand in his, nothing but a chance to listen to what Jaemin thought went wrong in this relationship, because Minhyung doesn’t _know_. He doesn’t know anything, he doesn’t have any experience, he doesn’t–it feels like there’s nothing he _can_ do to help anymore.

“I take it all back,” Jaemin pleads. He moves closer, and Minhyung fights his reflexes not to make a run for it, “Please–I don’t want to lose you.”

Minhyung eyes Jaemin’s hand once more, trembling the slightest–and he takes it, because _god_ forbid. The thought of losing Jaemin, Minhyung can’t bear it–he’d take being jealous and running down the streets any day, if it meant a fighting chance for another day with Jaemin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments appreciated!


	19. hogwarts au - dotae - fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> related to 'the emerald napkin'

“What is this?”

“It’s a space heater.” Taeyong angles it closer to Doyoung, turning it up to the highest setting, “Didn’t you learn this in Muggle studies? It’s under Muggle Technology, isn’t it?”

“I know that,” Doyoung snorts. He makes a little space for Taeyong beside him, already huddled up in all of Taeyong’s three blankets. He’s practically nested himself in Taeyong’s bed, the spread of black and gold fitting him as well as green and silver does. “I mean, why do you have one? Isn’t the Hufflepuff basement Charmed to be warm all the time?”

“It is in the Common Room,” Taeyong sheds his sweater to reveal just a thin sleep shirt, climbing into bed and into Doyoung’s embrace. “And the rooms are kept warm by the stove, just like the Gryffindor dorms.”

Doyoung purses his lips, “ _I’ve_ never been in the Gryffindor dorms.”

The petulant look he gives Taeyong is loaded with unspoken questions.

Taeyong rolls his eyes, “Don’t look at me like that. I’m really only in there whenever Taeil is, and he’s only in there for Youngho.” He tugs the blanket free from Doyoung to bring it around his shoulders too, “Plus, I don’t want to have to start the stove up for just us two whenever we’re in here.”

“What?”

“If you haven’t already realized,” Taeyong steals more of Doyoung’s warmth, even with the space heater whirring heat dutifully against his lower back. “We’re in here alone lot.”

“The dungeons are cold,” Doyoung says, as if Taeyong’s unfamiliar with the chilly temperatures his Slytherin roommates seem to favor. He fold his arms across his chest and wriggles close to Taeyong, a silent request to be hugged, “I’m cold.”

“You always are,” Taeyong sighs. He takes Doyoung in his arms, chest to chest, tucking Doyoung’s crown under his chin, “Especially so after Quidditch practice. Why’d you think I bought the space heater in the first place?”

Doyoung’s words are muffled by how he’s got his nose stuffed in Taeyong’s chest, “You got it for me?”

“Yes, Doyoung, I got it for you.”

“Thank you, though–you didn’t have to go all through that much trouble.” When Doyoung speaks, his breath is warmth against Taeyong’s skin, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Taeyong hums, “And it’s not that big of a deal, really, I just had it Accio-ed in and Charmed in undetectable.”

“Still.” Doyoung’s hands find purchase on Taeyong’s hips, stroking him gently there. “You’re the sweetest.”

Taeyong squirms, thankful that his face is hidden away. If Doyoung saw the blush on cheeks, he’d never stop boasting about it. “I mean–the alternative was to let you freeze every time you asked to come over, and I figured that might be a little mean.”

“A little?”

“Very.”

“Thank you then.” Doyoung turns to rub his cheek against Taeyong’s chest, not unlike a ginger cat. “For thinking of me.”

Taeyong bites on his lip, “I’m always thinking of you.” That makes Doyoung laugh, low and pleased. He starts to litter kisses over Taeyong’s chest, chastely through Taeyong’s shirt, “What are you doing?”

“Showing you my appreciation.”

Taeyong swallows thickly, “There are–other ways you can go about doing that.”

Doyoung rolls them over to hover above Taeyong, holding Taeyong snugly under him. He smirks, revealing just the top row of his pearly white teeth, “Yeah? Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Taeyong hooks a leg around Doyoung’s waist, not quite fond of the gap Doyoung’s placed between them. “Whatever you want.”

Doyoung considers this, “Dinner’s in half an hour.”

It’s not hard for Taeyong to know what Doyoung wants, and it’s easy for Taeyong to know that he wants it too. Wordlessly, he Accios a vial of lube from the topmost drawer of his bedside table, grinning when Doyoung’s eyes widen with evident interest.

“No one would notice.”

“That’s a lie,” but Doyoung takes the vial from Taeyong, sets it aside for later. He kisses with renewed vigor, hips dropping to roll against Taeyong’s. “Our friends would notice.”

“Maybe,” Taeyong rucks Doyoung’s sweater up, mumbling apologetically when Doyoung hisses at the coldness of his hands. “Don’t really care about anything else at this point.”

Doyoung covers Taeyong’s wandering with his own, squeezing it once, “You want me?”

“You ask me that as if the answer isn’t always _yes_.” Taeyong shakes his hand free to wind his arms around Doyoung’s neck. And in an effort to hook his other leg around Doyoung’s waist too, he kicks the space heater off where it’d been perched precariously on Taeyong’s trunk. It topples off unceremoniously to the ground, the safety switch cutting the power off automatically.

“Oh–“

“Ignore it,” Taeyong says, when Doyoung tries to pull away and right it. “ _Doyoung_.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs at Taeyong’s impatience, but listens, forgetting about the space heater as asked. “I’ll just have to keep us both warm then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments appreciated!


	20. celebrity/hospital - markmin - fluff

“We can’t be here, Jaemin, if someone sees us, we’ll–”

“I don’t care, Jeno.” Several photographers rush by them, and on instinct, Jaemin pulls his turtleneck up over his chin. If Minhyung were here, he’d tell Jaemin not to do that–hiding does nothing but draw suspicion. When they’re in the clear again, Jaemin looks over his shoulder, “Didn’t you see the news? He _collapsed,_ Jeno. On stage. In front of thousands of people.”

“I know, Jaemin, but if we get caught–”

“I should have been there.” Jaemin hurries to the side entrance of the hospital, the bright lights of white and sanitation near blinds him. Jeno’s sneakers squeak against linoleum, and Jaemin shushes him. He jams a finger against the elevator button, willing it to _please hurry_ , “I shouldn’t have gone for that shoot. If only I had been there before he went on stage–”

“What? You’d think Lee Minhyung would let you stop him from performing?” Jeno keeps his voice low, staring as if Jaemin’s just grown three heads, “You know him, Jaem–he never listens.”

“That’s not true. He listens to me.”

The doors slide open and both Jaemin and Jeno away, avoiding eye contact with the swarm of passersby. As young, rising celebrities, a hospital of all places would be least likely for them to get noticed, but neither of them are willing to take the risk.

Coming to find Minhyung in broad daylight’s a big enough risk as is.

“Okay, fine,” they pile into the lift and it’s shut thankfully before anyone else can think to enter. Jaemin turns to find Jeno watching him reproachfully. Blankly, he debates if deciding to take Jeno along with him was a good idea–the boy’s platinum blonde hair is ridiculously eye-catching, and if that wasn’t enough, Jeno’s latest movie was one of the year’s biggest films, making him the most wanted poster boy for every brand out there.

Yeah. Maybe it wasn’t the best of ideas, bringing Jeno along.

“But you know he would’ve been upset if you skipped a shoot for him,” Jeno has a valid point. He watches the numbers rise to level sixteen, “And it was for _Burberry_ , Jaem. He would’ve kicked you out and called you an Uber straight to the studio.”

Jaemin pulls his hood over his head just as the doors slide open once more, “I could’ve done something to prevent this, Jeno.” 

“You’re his boyfriend, not his personal physician.”

“But I could’ve–”

“Lee Jeno?” _Dear god._ “Is that Lee Jeno?”

Jaemin whips around to find a herd of paparazzi now on their tail, attracted by the glaringly conspicuous head of blonde hair and Jeno’s perfect frame. The panicked look on Jeno’s face is gold, but Jaemin has no time to savor it, dashing off in the other direction and leaving Jeno to fend for himself.

_He’ll be fine_ , Jaemin thinks, though as he leaves he pities the questions hurled at his best friend– _Jeno, any plans for your next movie? Jeno, is it true that you’ve signed on for a new blockbuster next fall? Jeno, what can you tell us about your relationship with rising solo artist Huang Renjun? The fans want to know!_

He promises to buy Jeno a drink later, an apology for feeding him to the wolves, but for now, Jaemin can only think of room 1603 and the boy behind it. Minhyung’s manager gives him a cursory nod when he approaches, not bothering to ask _why_ he’s here and for that, Jaemin is grateful. He pushes the door open and is immediately greeted by–

The sight of the legendary Lee Minhyung lying in the hospital bed. A blanket is pooled around his waist and he seems to be engrossed with the television hanging in a corner of the room, half-eaten pudding cup in his hands. There’s a Ringer attached to his arm and a bandage around his right wrist. Other than that, Minhyung appeared unarmed; Jaemin’s heart breathes relief.

“You’re an idiot.”

Minhyung drops his attention to Jaemin then, having not noticed his presence beforehand. His mouth parts in surprise and his eyes dart to the closed door behind Jaemin. Even in circumstances like these, Minhyung can think to worry.

“You’re such an idiot,” Jaemin scolds, crossing the room in four long strides and throwing himself half onto Minhyung, hugging tight. “What were you _thinking_?”

“I’m–sorry.” He hears Minhyung leave the pudding cup aside, shifting to accommodate Jaemin on his bed, “I wanted to call you but–”

“You’re overworking yourself, Min.” Jaemin buries his face into Minhyung’s neck, body refusing to shake the anxiousness off, “You have to take care of yourself, you can’t be collapsing–you can’t live on the verge of fainting every single minute of the day, Min, I can’t–”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay–I’m okay.” Jaemin sighs heavily, but he lets Minhyung maneuver him until he’s lying on the bed now too, hidden in Minhyung’s arms. “I’m okay, it wasn’t anything serious–I just forgot to eat and with my low blood sugar…”

“God, babe, what if you fall into a coma, you have to–”

“A coma? What?” Minhyung scoffs, “You’re spending way too much time on Google–”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do the entire half hour Uber ride here from the studio after watching a shaky video of you collapsing on stage?” Jaemin takes a deep breath, “You fell _so_ hard, Min, the sound of it was so clear even on the video–I thought–I thought you–”

“I’m fine, Jaem, I promise. It wasn’t a hard fall–it really wasn’t.”

Jaemin doesn’t believe him, “Did you break any bones?”

Minhyung sighs, automatically lifting his right hand for Jaemin to inspect, “It’s just a minor sprain, no broken bones.” He pulls away to say, “I’m sorry I made you worry, but I really am fine. The doctor said to take care of my wrist and that I’m good to get back to work after the Ringer–”

“Lee Minhyung, I swear _on_ god–”

“–but I’ve already told my manager that I’ll be taking the rest of the week off.”

“You do that,” Jaemin grumbles. He trains his gaze on Minhyung’s blanket-covered feet, “Everyone’s so worried about you, you know? There’re news stories and trending hashtags and a flock of fans waiting by the lobby.”

“I know,” Minhyung mumbles. “I should probably have a statement released to clear the air.”

Jaemin shakes his head, reaches for the leftover pudding cup, “Let management worry about that. You need to rest, okay? Seriously.”

“Yeah, okay,” Minhyung takes the pudding cup. “You’re right.”

“I sure am.”

“You haven’t got any other schedules today, have you?” Minhyung fiddles with the spoon; Jaemin knows he’s always been shy about things like this and it’s sickeningly sweet how he finds it endearing, “You’ll stay with me, right?”

“Yes, babe.” Jaemin props himself up on an elbow to steal a quick kiss, tasting sweetness on Minhyung’s lips. “I’ll stay for as long as you like.” 

And so Jaemin does, cuddled up with Minhyung to watch whatever crappy melodrama’s playing on cable, relishing in the precious time they have together–in spite the morbid enough location.

(He does, however, forget about Jeno, who suffers the wrangle of paparazzis and escapes only when Jaemin spots him on the way out for another cup of sweet pudding for Minhyung.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments appreciated!


	21. with me - renmin - slight angst

They had a fight, last night. It was short and there wasn’t any yelling or crying, but the words hurt and Renjun had left before either of them could apologize. Jaemin had called–he’d called again and again, and again and _again_ –but Renjun refused to pick up. He didn’t want to face the consequences of his own words, his own assumptions, his own fears.

 _Na Jaemin [0032]:_ I know you didn’t mean what you said. I won’t hold it against you, please just call me back when you get home.  
_Na Jaemin [0039]:_ Renjun, please, I love you.

Jaemin with his heart of gold would, of course, forgive him. He’d forgive Renjun for accusing him–accusing Jaemin of lying about that girl he’d been so close with, of liking her more than just a classmate, that how could he not? How could he not when she’s so infinitely smarter than Renjun? So infinitely prettier? So infinitely better?

Jaemin would forgive him for saying they should break up. For saying that things aren’t going to work–not when he can’t beat the competition out there, everyone vying for Jaemin–kind, sweet, funny. Everything Renjun isn’t, everything Renjun can’t be.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Renjun snaps out of his reverie. Minhyung is standing by him now, two champagne glasses in his hands. Renjun assumes one of them’s for Donghyuck, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Jaemin’s looking for you,” Minhyung tells him, blissfully unaware of their little spat. He takes a sip from the glass in his right hand, holding the left close to his chest. “Said he needed to talk to you.”

Renjun is offered a glass of champagne too, but he declines politely, “Does he.”

“Yeah,” Minhyung goes on his tiptoes, looking over the mass of people in the exhibition hall. He laughs to himself, shaking his head in disbelief, “I can’t believe Hyuck said he thought no one would turn up.”

“What. I see about a hundred and fifty people here.”

“I told him so,” Minhyung sighs. He’s smiling so wide; the corners of his lips threaten to near his ears. “The amount of people that love him and the work he does–the art he creates–ah, he always underestimates himself.”

“Right,” Renjun picks at the sleeves of his jacket, regrets not taking the drink. He needs something to dull his senses; there’s no way he’s going to make it through the night if all his body plans to do is sniff out Jaemin’s tall frame and perfect blonde hair. And if he doesn’t ask Minhyung, _hell_ , if he doesn’t ask anyone–he won’t ever stop thinking about it, “Do you ever–get jealous?”

Minhyung drops back down to his regular height, turning to look at Renjun quizzically, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Renjun lunges forward to grab a cocktail from a waiter passing by, taking a generous gulp of it. “Hyuck’s pretty famous, what he does–designing, creating art, all that good stuff. And he has so many people around him all the time and they’re all–I don’t know, what if they’re better than you?”

Minhyung stares like he hasn’t truly considered it, and Renjun fears in that split second that he might have just ruined his best friends’ three-year-long relationship. But then his expression softens and it’s almost like one of resignation, as if he _has_ thought about it before.

“I’m sure there’re people better than me,” Minhyung says. It’s without much feeling, like he were merely stating a fact he believed to be true, “There’ll always be people better than me, but Donghyuck picked me.”

The glass in Renjun’s hand is on the verge of cracking, with how he’s holding on so tight.

“Out of every single person he could’ve wanted, he chose to want me.” Minhyung takes another sip, “But to answer your question–yes, I do get jealous. And sometimes, when we come to exhibitions like these, I want him to talk to me and only me. Instead of him going around and explaining the art he’s painstakingly worked on for months to professors and potential employers, I want him here. With me.”

The disgusting rawness of guilt eats Renjun alive.

“But I know how selfish that is of me,” Minhyung laughs. He goes on his tiptoes again, and Renjun knows now he’s not looking at the crowd–he’s looking for _Donghyuck_ , “And I know that I shouldn’t think worse of him because, at the end of the day, he’ll always come back to me. Because he picked me.”

Renjun brings the glass up to his lips, downing half of it in a go.

“Speaking of, I see him over there,” Minhyung gives him a knowing look, and moves to excuse himself. “I should probably hand him his drink–are you going to be okay alone?”

“Yeah.” And before Minhyung gets too far, Renjun calls, “Thanks, Min.”

He’s left alone once more. The glass is empty once again not long after Minhyung leaves and Renjun thanks the waiter that takes it from him. He knows he has to look for Jaemin now, and with Minhyung’s words bubbling in his chest, he knows he wants to take all of his words back. Everything.

“Renjun.”

But of course–Jaemin would find him first. He and his heart of gold, he and his irresistible charm, he and everything Renjun has never asked for, but now can’t live without.

Renjun turns, and it isn’t a sight he hasn’t seen before, but Jaemin still looks incredibly dashing in his navy-blue suit, trim and tight in all the right places. It’s the same one Jaemin’d worn at Donghyuck’s first exhibition a year ago–the first night he’d introduced himself to Renjun.

A rush of emotions overwhelms and Renjun finds himself throwing his arms around Jaemin, completely disregarding the fact that he’d walked out on Jaemin just last night.

“Renjun,” Jaemin breathes. His hands find purchase on Renjun’s waist, and he holds on tight, no intention of letting go. Confused, a cry for an explanation, “ _Renjun_.”

“I’m sorry I said those things,” Renjun mumbles. Jaemin hugs him tighter, “I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean it.”

“But why–”

“Just tell me you’d pick me.” Renjun hates that the words make Jaemin’s fingers dig tight into his skin; it shows only just how Jaemin’d never considered anything otherwise. He hopes for now, it’ll be enough an explanation for Jaemin. They’d have to talk about it, under the comfort of Jaemin’s blanket, in the arms of one another, but for now, Renjun just wants him to know, “Be with me.”

“I love you, Renjun,” Jaemin sighs. “I wouldn’t never want anyone else but you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments appreciated!


	22. celebrity au - dotae - angst

“No way! No way, no way, no _way_!”

Doyoung winces, reclining further into the couch when Taeyong positively comes bounding up to him, no regard for personal space whatsoever. He scowls, bringing his phone closer to his face in a terrible attempt to shut Taeyong out.

“You met Dean!” Taeyong snatches the phone out of Doyoung’s hands and tosses it onto the couch. If it’d landed anywhere other than the softest of their couch cushions, Doyoung would’ve made a bigger fuss. “What do you mean he’s your new client? Is he going to sign with another company now? Or is he just branching out? I’ve watched _so_ many conspiracy theory videos on him and oh my _god–”_

“Would you stop?” Doyoung stands, forcing Taeyong to stumble back a couple of steps from where he’d been hovering so close. All he wanted was to pull everything from Doyoung and his meeting today with the R&B singer-songwriter, undoubtedly one of the industry’s hottest celebrities. He’d never known Taeyong kept tabs on someone else like that, “You’re like–obsessed with him, you know.”

“I’m not _obsessed_ ,” Taeyong argues. He follows Doyoung round their dining table, excitement practically staining their kitchen tiles, “He’s one of the biggest stars out there right now, you can’t blame me for wanting to know more now that my boyfriend’s _met_ the guy!”

“Yeah, sure.” Doyoung grabs a mug roughly from the dryer rack, filling it. He takes a long sip, unhappy with the way Taeyong’s waiting for more, “He just came by the company to hand us some free meet and greet tickets to his concert, okay? Nothing more. It was a publicity stunt.”

“Oh my _god_.”

Doyoung regrets it immediately. Envy coils hot in his gut and it spreads to up his back in an icy grip. He tries to push past Taeyong’s excitement, but Taeyong crowds him in a corner, eyes wide like a puppy begging to be rewarded.

“Please, please, _please_ , tell me you’re bringing me to a Dean concert!”

Doyoung closes his eyes. He is a rational person. He knows Taeyong’s solid infatuation for the celebrity is nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , worth being jealous over, but Doyoung–he’s never rational when it comes to Taeyong.

“Yeah,” he sets the mug down and firmly moves Taeyong aside. There’s no shoving or pushing, there’s no need for that because Taeyong goes, jaw dropping in shock. Doyoung marches over to his work bag and pulls out two concert tickets, placing them in Taeyong’s open hand. “They gave me two for next weekend, so–take Yuta and have fun.”

“Wait, you’re not coming with me?”

Doyoung shuts his bag and turns to leave, “No.”

“But–wait, Doyoung–” Taeyong trails close behind when Doyoung heads for their bedroom, “Why not? I mean, I know you aren’t a big fan of him, but we could go together–like a date.”

A date. How long has it been since they’ve been on a proper date? Being together with someone since freshmen year of university really does take the excitement out when they’re five long years down the road. Not that Doyoung ever allowed himself to be bothered by that–he was content, what he had with Taeyong.

“Why would watching you scream over another guy be considered a date?” Doyoung sheds his jacket, hangs it on the hanger he’d left this morning. Taeyong is watching him now, frowning. Doyoung shrugs, “Sounds like a pretty bad date to me.”

“Come _on,_ Doyoung,” Taeyong groans. He holds the tickets to his chest, close to his heart. “This is hardly something to get jealous over, you know better than to be this childish.”

Doyoung presses his lips into a hard line, “Well, I’m sorry, I can’t seem to think straight with how my boyfriend seems to think it’s okay he’s gushing about another person right to my face.”

“This isn’t–” Taeyong inhales sharply, “This isn’t just another person, this is _Dean_ –you’re being ridiculous right now.”

“Okay, and how is this different from when you yelled at me for studying with Kim Jisoo? Which, by the way, was a thing I _told_ you about. It was nothing and you knew it, but you were jealous anyway and stayed mad at me for an entire week.” Doyoung points out, “Are you admitting that you were being ridiculous back then?”

Taeyong frowns, “That’s not the same thing! Obviously, nothing could ever happen between me and Dean, but you and Kim Jisoo could’ve–”

Doyoung’s heart drops. “I could’ve what?” Taeyong freezes. He seems to take a full three seconds to register what he’s just said, and the anger on his face dissolves into guilt, “I could’ve cheated, is that what you’re going to say?”

“No, _no_.” Taeyong drops the tickets onto their bed, forgetting about them in an instant, “I didn’t mean that–I know you wouldn’t do that to me, Doyoung, I just meant–”

“Meant what?” Doyoung yanks his arm free from Taeyong’s hands, bridges a space between them. “That I can’t be jealous because there’s no way you would cheat on me, but there’s a possibility of me cheating on you so you’ve the absolute _right_ to be jealous?”

Taeyong’s voice comes out low, “I never said that.”

“But you implied it.” Doyoung shakes his head, green taking over, “Yeah. Yeah, whatever. Have fun at the concert.”

“Don’t do this,” Taeyong’s breathing picks up. “This is such a stupid fight, Doyoung, I never said anything about cheating, I never meant to imply that you would cheat, Doyoung, just–”

“It’s not about that.” Doyoung grabs his towel off a hanger and moves towards the bathroom. He needs space. He needs to calm down. “It’s about how you think it’s okay for you to get jealous, but when I do, it’s like I’ve thought the stupidest thing in the world. As if I have no right to be jealous.”

Taeyong tries to follow him into the bathroom, “Stop, Doyoung, I don’t want to fight, I don’t–”

“Yeah.” Doyoung firmly removes Taeyong’s hand from the knob. There’s no shoving or pushing, there’s no need for that. He sighs, “Neither do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be continued!
> 
> kudos/comments appreciated!


	23. beds/hogwarts au - dotae - fluff

There’s a certain charm to him, Taeyong thinks. Yeah. There’s just something about the way Doyoung laughs and the way he smiles that really’s got Taeyong heart going a hundred miles per hour. Maybe it’s just his small, unexperienced heart that’s unable to handle Doyoung’s charming self, but whatever it is, Taeyong finds that he likes it.

Likes looking at Doyoung, listening to his laugh, admiring his smile–all from afar of course. He’s rather be dead than be caught watching Doyoung hang out with his other sixth year friends.

“This is boring.” Youngho plops down on the seat beside him, “This is _so_ boring.”

“It’s a school trip,” Taeyong says, averting his eyes from Doyoung immediately. If he wanted to make it through these three days without Youngho on his back about crushing on a certain Kim Doyoung, he’d have to be a little more tact. “And you’re only upset because fifth years aren’t allowed on this trip–fourth years meaning one Jung Jaehyun.”

“Well, clearly.” Youngho grumbles, “I miss him already, my sweetheart.”

“Gross,” Taeyong wrinkles his nosek, “You’re overreacting. It’s a three-day trip to the archaeological sites and Jaehyun doesn’t even study Ancient Runes; he’d be bored out of his mind here.”

“Doesn’t stop me from missing him.” Youngho sighs, looking at his hands pathetically. Taeyong takes the chance to sneak another look at Doyoung (and his gorgeous smile), but that proves to be the worst decision when he’s looking back at Youngho. There’s a shit-eating grin on his face, “You’re just waiting for Doyoung to ask you out, aren’t you? Chivalry is dead, Yong, just ask him out yourself.”

“What.” Taeyong stands, not quite knowing why either. He brushes it off, “I’m not waiting for anyone to ask me out–you’re out of your mind.”

“C’mon,” Youngho grouses. He follows when Taeyong stalks off, hoping his robes will trip Youngho and his long legs somehow. “You’ve been staring at this kid since the second he walked in the Great Hall his first year. Said something about how cute his teeth were.”

“Shut up,” Taeyong mumbles.

It _was_ true though–Taeyong did find Doyoung cute right off the bat. His eyes were glued to Doyoung up at the front of the Great Hall, praying hard over and over that the younger boy would be sorted into Hufflepuff too. In those ten minutes, Taeyong’d envisioned guiding the new boy around school grounds, helping him out with schoolwork in the Hufflepuff Basement, sneaking out to the kitchens at midnight just like he’d heard his seniors do.

Those went flying out the Great Hall the moment Kim Doyoung sorted to Slytherin.

“Attention, students!” Professor Kwon is back now, speaking to the mass of students with his wand to his neck, Amplifying Charm carrying his voice easily. “There was a mishap with the rooms and number of beds available for us for the next three days, so please exercise understanding upon receiving your rooms.”

A hand shoots up in the hair. Brown hair and blue robes, “Can’t we magic _capacious extremis_ to enlarge rooms and double up beds?”

“School rules apply, Mr. Nakamoto.” Professor Kwon’s stern look sweeps over the crowd of relatively proficient group of sixth and seventh years, “There will be no magic allowed apart from when we are in a classroom setting.”

“What a bunch of bull,” Youngho mutters, just as Professor Kwon begins to hand keys out to randomized pairs. “No magic on a field trip? What are we, first years?”

“Please,” Taeyong snorts, reading Youngho with ease, “Even if they do let us use magic in the rooms, all you’ll do is conjure one of those phone things to call Jaehyun with that fancy video function its got.”

“It’s called Facetime.”

“Face whatever, I just hope I’m not rooming with you–I don’t think I can live with your endless yabbering for three whole days.”

Youngho gives him a loaded look, “We don’t just _talk_ , you know?”

“Okay, didn’t need to know that,” Taeyong plugs his ears, “I _didn’t_ need to know that!”

“Relax, Taeyong, it’s perfectly normal human behavior! We’re both young and in love, and–”

“Oh my god, Youngho, _stop_ talking, I don’t have to know what you and Jung Jaehyun wish to do when you’re not off–”

And then, softly. So soft it can’t be Youngho, because Youngho’s the loudest thing in the world compared to the mumble he hears, “Uh. Lee Taeyong?”

Before he turns, Taeyong’s heart shoots straight up and hits the back of his throat. A terrible sign. It’s a good heartbeat (in his mouth) he takes to realize that Kim Doyoung is standing before him, a pair of keys in his outstretched hand.

 _No. No, no, no_.

“We’re in room 808,” Doyoung tells him, hands him one of the keys. There’s a tag jangling from it, _808_ bright red against gold. He stares at Taeyong’s hand-carry by his feet, “Is that all you brought with you?”

 _We_ , oh my god. Taeyong’d never thought he’d be a _we_ with Doyoung. “We’re roommates?”

“Seems like it.” Doyoung doesn’t seem at all bothered by that fact. _Obviously_ , Taeyong bites on his lip, _he’s probably never even heard of me before today._ “I’m Kim Doyoung, it’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to–”

“Oh, Doyoung,” Youngho chimes in. He sends Taeyong a grin of just pure evil, like the devil incarnate, “It really _is_ so nice to meet you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments appreciated!


	24. fever - nohyuck - slight angst

Donghyuck knows something’s wrong. He hasn’t seen Jeno since Monday and it’s taken him a whole six days to notice it, thanks to Jaemin and Jisung incessant questioning. They helpfully point out that they haven’t seen Jeno roaming around the campus’ broadcasting studio–where he almost always is–and how Jeno hasn’t been answering their messages or picking up their calls.

“Did you guys get in a fight?” Jisung’s bluntness, while endearing the first two weeks upon the first time Donghyuck met him, is starting to push at his buttons.

“No.” Donghyuck wracks his brain. The past week have been filled with deadlines and meetings and events, he hasn’t the time to meet with Jeno, much less fight with his boy, “We’re fine.”

Jisung wrinkles his nose, “Sounds pretty unbelievable to me.”

“We’re not fighting, Park.” Donghyuck pulls out his phone, “I’ll just call him right now, no big deal.”

“He’s not going to pick up,” Jaemin says. He shifts to rest his head on Jisung’s shoulder, hooking their arms together, “I’ve already tried calling him like, a hundred times.”

Donghyuck tries to quiet the unsettling feeling in his gut, “Maybe he’s just busy.”

“He’s not,” Jisung points out. “Doyoung says he isn’t even down at the labs anymore, I mean–this isn’t how he’s like normally, right?”

Jaemin doesn’t blink, “Are you sure you guys aren’t fighting? Because the last time you were, he didn’t eat for days and–”

“We are _not_ fighting, we–” Donghyuck’s grip tighten in his hands. Did he do something wrong again? _Was_ Jeno angry with him? Maybe he’d said something the last time they met, or Donghyuck’d forgotten another one of their dates. He’s just been so _busy_ , “I’m–going to swing by his apartment later alright, check up on him.”

And when he does find himself at Jeno’s apartment, fist raised to knock on the door, Donghyuck worries that he really _has_ done something wrong. Thinking back, he hasn’t even received a single text message from Jeno the entire week and that just–isn’t right. Between the two of them, Jeno was always the one texting _good morning, I love you_ messages and _sweet dreams, Hyuck_ before he slept.

Donghyuck doesn’t know what worries him more–that the messages were gone or that he’d taken so long to realize they were.

Three in succession, Donghyuck holds his breath and waits for the door to swing open.

“Hyuck?” Jeno stands, still in his pajamas. It’s noon now and unusual for Jeno to still be in them, a sleeveless shirt and comfy cotton pants with puppy prints. His mouth falls open, “What are you doing here?”

“I came here to check up on you.” Donghyuck slips into the apartment when Jeno moves aside, albeit robotically. The apartment seems neat and tidy, as it always is–Donghyuck sees no obvious signs of distress or cries for help. “I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Right.” The door shuts, “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

At that, Donghyuck whirls around. He meets Jeno’s downcast eyes, hidden partially behind the thick black frames of his glasses. Slowly, he passes Donghyuck in the hall, and Donghyuck reaches for his arm before he can get too far, “Hey.”

“Sorry,” Jeno mumbles. He shrugs Donghyuck off, but doesn’t move any further, “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Did I do something?” Donghyuck fidgets when Jeno doesn’t answer. If he did something wrong, Jeno should tell him, shouldn’t he? He can’t just keep it to himself and expect Donghyuck to know what’s going on, “Jeno, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Jeno shakes his head. With a sigh, “It’s nothing. I’m just–a little loopy from my medication.”

“What?” Donghyuck brings the back of his hand to Jeno’s forehead. It’s warm, but not enough for it to raise any alarms. “Were you sick?”

“Had the flu,” Jeno shies away from his hand and Donghyuck wished he’d stop doing that. He backpedals into the living room and Donghyuck follows, hand still extended towards Jeno. “I’m fine now.”

Donghyuck frowns, “Why didn’t you tell me? Did you see a doctor?”

Jeno stops moving. He stands in between the couch and the coffee table, seemingly unsure if this is a conversation they should seated. He shrugs, “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Jeno–”

“–and when you didn’t call to ask, I thought.” Jeno hugs himself, refusing to look at Donghyuck. “I thought you just–forgot about me.”

“ _Jeno_ ,” Donghyuck whispers, pained. He stomps the guilt away; now’s not the time to swim in what he could’ve done. He’s here now. Quickly, he crosses the space between them to throw his arms around his sulking boyfriend, burying his face in Jeno’s neck. He doesn’t care that Jeno doesn’t budge, still holding onto himself. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, I understand, Hyuck–”

“Don’t say that.” Donghyuck breathes when Jeno’s hands loosen to drop to his sides, elbows no longer digging into Donghyuck’s torso, “I didn’t mean to do it on purpose, I swear, it’s just–with finals, I’ve been so busy, I get home so late every night, I–”

“I know you are.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Donghyuck grips Jeno’s shoulders tight. He should’ve been here for Jeno, just as how the boy’s always been there for him. “I would’ve come, Jeno. I would’ve skipped whatever meeting to take care of you, you know I would.”

Jeno’s glasses bump into the side of Donghyuck’s head when he sighs, “I know.” His hands, ever so gently, rest low on Donghyuck’s hips. Donghyuck steps forward, trying to meld his body with Jeno’s, needing the touch. “I guess, some part of me wanted to see how long it’d take you to notice. That I wasn’t there.”

Donghyuck rips himself away at the revelation, “Jeno.” He struggles to speak, struggles to have Jeno understand that he _never_ would’ve ignored him on purpose. He can’t find the words, he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for anymore, “Jeno, _please_.”

“I’m not mad,” Jeno says. It’s sincere, and that hurts even more.

“You have to tell me these things,” Donghyuck says. He can’t stop the guilt from creeping up his chest, suffocating him, “You can’t _test_ me like this, Jeno–it’s not fair, I would’ve come over to take care of you. You know that, you know I would, and–knowing now that I didn’t, you can’t–”

“I didn’t want to have to call you,” Jeno says quietly. “It’s stupid, I know, but I wanted to know–just how much I mean to you. And from this–”

“Don’t.” Donghyuck lunges forward again, hooking his chin over Jeno’s shoulder. He doesn’t want to see the look of dejection on Jeno’s face, doesn’t want to ever have to, “You mean–you mean everything to me. You do–I love you.”

Jeno stays silent. Then holds a little tighter, speaks a little softer, “Six days, Hyuck.”

“I didn’t realize–” Donghyuck tilts his head to kiss at Jeno’s neck chastely, “I lost track of time. I didn’t know I hadn’t seen you since–just–tell me how I can make it up to you, I swear I will.”

“Nothing.” And for a good second, Donghyuck thinks the worst. But Jeno is hugging him back now, breathing slow, “I still love you, and I understand you were busy, Hyuck. It wasn’t a test, I promise.”

“No,” Donghyuck pushes until Jeno plops down onto the couch. He brackets Jeno’s hips with his thighs, slumping against his boyfriend. He cradles his hands close to himself, cheek against Jeno’s chest, “I don’t want us to be like this, Jeno–you _have_ to call me. I want you to call me. I don’t want you to feel like I don’t care, because I do, Jeno. I care about you.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeno kisses his crown, arms moving to wrap around Donghyuck. “I didn’t mean to test you, I was just–curious.”

“Be curious about other things,” Donghyuck tells him. He grabs Jeno’s hand to tangle their fingers together, brings it up to his lips to kiss it sweet, “You don’t have to be curious over this–I will always care about you. Just please–meet me halfway, okay?”

“Okay.” Jeno brings their hands up to his lips and kisses it too, “I love you.”

Donghyuck tilts up for a kiss, tastes the lemon-y lozenge on Jeno’s tongue, “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments appreciated!


	25. limits - dotae (yuta) - slight angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more on yuta/taeyong's friendship
> 
> related to the chapter on dotae/superheroes

When Taeyong wakes, Doyoung isn’t there.

“Wow, sure,” Yuta snorts, getting up from his spot by the corner of Taeyong’s room. He folds the book he’d been reading and sets it down, walking towards Taeyong’s bedridden side with look of hurt, “I’ve been here four days straight and Kim Doyoung’s the one you’re looking for.”

Taeyong swallows thickly, wincing when it hurts. Four days? Had it really been that long?

“Here,” Yuta says, grabbing a cup of water with a plastic straw, angling it for Taeyong to drink from. He answers Taeyong silent question, reading his best friend’s gaze easily, “He hasn’t been by.”

Taeyong continues sipping, ignoring the disappointed thud in his chest. Doyoung must still be angry at him for arguing during a mission. He’d yelled at Doyoung to _Just go your own way if you don’t agree with me!_ and Doyoung had listened, turning his back to give them both some space. It was in that split second that he was seized by the neck, metal handcuffs on him in the next–his powers withheld.

He doesn’t quite remember anything after that. He remembers the cold metal against his back and the injections up his arm–to subdue him, he thinks–but he doesn’t remember anything else.

Save for the sound of Doyoung crying over him. He’d been awake–or conscious, at least–when Doyoung found him; he felt Doyoung’s hand on him, on his arms, on his cheeks, trying to wake him, begging for him to please wake. And Taeyong had tried. He tried so hard to open his eyes and say _It’s okay, I’m fine, please don’t cry anymore_ , but he–couldn’t.

Yuta breaks the silence, “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Taeyong mumbles. “If he doesn’t want to see me, then–so be it.”

“I don’t think he doesn’t want to see you.” Yuta takes the cup when Taeyong’s finished with it, and returns to sit on the edge of Taeyong’s bed, “He’s been–blaming himself over what happened. Losing you.”

Taeyong blinks, “Why?”

Yuta stares at him, “He turned his back on you, Taeyong. He’s not supposed to do that. On war ground, in the facility, in a restautant–ever. He’s your boyfriend, Taeyong.”

“But I told him to leave,” Taeyong doesn’t understand. This–it isn’t Doyoung’s fault at all. “I told him to go.”

“He never said that.” Yuta looks at him hardly and Taeyong knows he’s trying to figure if what Taeyong is sane enough to know what he’s saying, “Doyoung said he left you.”

“We–we had an argument.” Taeyong holds onto the hem of the blanket tightly, “I said we should continue on with the mission, but he said it was too dangerous for us to keep–”

Yuta groans, “Taeyong…”

“But I _knew_ we were close!” Taeyong coughs, lungs still too weak to be exerting this much force. Yuta pats him on the back, lets him regain his voice, “We were so close, Yuta, we could’ve infiltrated and gotten the data in under _two_ minutes.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yuta says. The disappointment is evident, “It doesn’t matter how close you were, Taeyong. You knew beforehand that Doyoung does surveillance better than you do. If he said it was dangerous, you both should’ve left.”

Taeyong grits his teeth, “We’ve worked so hard on this, Yuta! I shouldn’t have to just agree with whatever he says, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to let him convince me to throw this whole operation away–”

“And he wasn’t going to let you throw your _life_ away!” Taeyong recoils at the words, at its severity. He sighs heavily, rubbing at his temples, “You should’ve listened to him, Taeyong. If Doyoung said it was dangerous enough that the both of you had to extract yourselves from the mission, you should have.”

“But–”

“He knows your limits, Taeyong.” Yuta drops his hands, evaluating Taeyong. “He knows better than you do, and now–now, he–”

Taeyong sits up, stricken. “He what?” Yuta chews on the inside of his cheek, debates with himself. Taeyong grabs him by the hands, wills Yuta to look at him, “What is it? What happened?”

“He’s leaving.”

Taeyong doesn’t comprehend, “What?”

Yuta shakes his head, “He–he says he doesn’t want to be active on the field. Says he can’t do it anymore, not after what happened with you. With us almost losing you.”

“But he’s my–he’s my partner.” A familiar pressure builds in his throat and behind his eyes, “And I was never going to–I was never in any critical danger, I–”

“You were, Taeyong.” Yuta stands, unable to keep still, “By the time Jaehyun and the medics got to you, your stats put you at nine percent. Nine percent. Doyoung refused to leave you, he wouldn’t stop crying–watching the numbers go down.” He glances at Taeyong, anger unmistakable, “ _I_ wouldn’t stop crying.”

“Yuta–” Taeyong can’t quite find the words to say. What could he say? “I’m so sorry.”

Yuta laughs, mirthless, “It’s understandable, you know. Why Doyoung wants to leave. You can’t just put yourself in positions like these and expect all of us to be okay with it, Taeyong.”

“Yuta–”

“I’m going to tell Jaehyun you’ve woken up, so he can check on your stats. You should rest now, Taeyong.” Yuta heads towards the door and with that ends the conversation, leaving Taeyong shell-shocked and so painfully alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos/comments appreciated!
> 
> might turn this into a short fic - please leave a comment if it's something you'd like to see!


	26. with me - dotae - angst, happy ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> related to [this chapter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19939090/chapters/47427250)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: arguments, don't take it too seriously

Doyoung holds grudges, and he holds them for a long time. It’s got nothing to do with being petty or spiteful, it’s just how Doyoung is when it comes to arguments and it’s how he’ll always be forever, despite his own desire to correct himself.

_The concert–it’s tomorrow night, isn’t it?_

“Is everything alright?”

Doyoung snaps out of his daze, straightening his back and looking up. Across the long workbench sits one of the accounting interns, twenty-year-old Lee Jeno. He’s staring at Doyoung with an expression that crosses curious and concern, his blonde hair falling over his eyes.

“Yes.” Doyoung clears his throat, swirls his lunch around his plate, “How’re the numbers working out to be?”

“I don’t know,” Jeno sighs, slumping against the table. He tucks his arm under his cheek, glaring daggers into the laptop before him, “I can’t figure out if it’s supposed to balance out yet or not. I think I used the wrong data sheet and I clicked too many buttons, I think I messed up.”

Doyoung looks at him apologetically, “You should ask Wonwoo next time. He’s a lot better at this than I am.”

“I can’t,” Jeno mumbles. He explains when Doyoung raises a brow in question, “All the interns are assigned someone and we all made a pact–first one to ask for help from someone that isn’t their assigned mentor loses.”

Doyoung’s fork pauses midway to his mouth, “That’s dumb.” Jeno deflates, like a puppy being denied a walk out to the park, “You realize that this is a professional working environment, right?”

Jeno juts his lower lip out, “Loser has to buy everyone lunch for a _week_.”

“… Hand me the laptop.”

+

“Okay, see if we move this row here–”

“No, wait, if you do that the whole row is going to–oh my god.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know it was going to disappear like that–we can just undo that, and–”

“Jeno, no, that’s the exit button– _Jeno_!”

“Sorry!” Jeno squeaks, collapsing into the office chair next to Doyoung once more. It’s been six hours since their lunch break and Doyoung hates the fact that they’re both still stuck in the office, trying to figure the simplest of functions on Microsoft Excel–the current bane of Doyoung’s existence. Jeno groans, long legs extending out to the chair beside him, “I give up. I’ll have to ask Donghyuck for help.”

“No, no,” Doyoung sighs. He clicks around again, pride refusing to let Jeno–his now beloved mentee–ask for help and risk losing the bet; the exact same bet he’s now way too ridiculously invested in. He saves their progress (which isn’t much) and shuts the laptop, stretching his arms over his head, “We’ll figure it out over dinner. My treat.”

Jeno perks up, “Dinner?”

“Yeah.” Briefly, Doyoung thinks about worried eyes and a petulant frown waiting for him back at the apartment, but he shoves the thought out of his mind. He doesn’t want to think about that tonight, “I know a nice skewer place nearby.”

“Really?” Jeno’s eyes shine, and he bolts up onto his feet when Doyoung nods. He grins, suddenly far more awake than he had been the entire day, “Is it the one on 6th?”

“You’ve heard of it?” Doyoung collects his things and leaves the meeting room, Jeno following closely behind, “It’s a new place, but I’ve been a there a couple of times for client meetings.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jeno bounces on his feet, energy practically dripping from his skin. Distantly, Doyoung tries to remember ever having that much energy, ever. “Jaemin told me about that place, said Youngho brought him there on our first day.”

“Well, alright, we can just eat there tonight and work on the–”

“Hey, Doyoung!” He turns, spots Wonwoo waving at him from the other end of the office. His things are piled up in one hand, the other holding onto the glass door leading out into the elevator landing. “Security called–someone’s coming up for you.”

Doyoung sighs, “A client at this hour?”

“Don’t think so.” Wonwoo holds the door open with his foot, files wobbling in his arms, “Security said it was a personal visit.”

_A personal–_

Doyoung thinks of nothing. He hurries to the door and Wonwoo shifts out of the way, who leaves for his office when Doyoung thanks him quietly. He’s now given a full view of the empty lobby. Then, an elevator stops on their floor and the doors slide open, and who else should walk out but–

“Hi.”

Reaction immediate, Doyoung feels his jaws tighten. He averts his eyes from where Taeyong stands, still reluctant to make contact. He knows he’s prolonged this fight for far too long, but he can’t shake Taeyong’s words from his mind, succumbing to the way his thoughts insist on twisting them.

Puncturing the silence, Jeno whispers, “Who’s that?”

Doyoung looks up quick enough to see Taeyong’s eyes flash. He glances at Jeno and then at Doyoung, lips thinning. He steps forward, ignoring Doyoung’s non-existent protest, sticking a thin hand out to Jeno, “I’m Doyoung’s boyfriend. And you are?”

Jeno’s eyes fly right out of their sockets, “Boyfriend?”

“He didn’t mention me?”

Doyoung takes Taeyong by the elbow, refusing to let Taeyong try and disintegrate Jeno with just his stare, “He’s my intern.” Taeyong doesn’t move away, “And my relationship status isn’t information I announce to the entire office.”

“Sorry, oh my god, no, I just didn’t know Doyoung–you know–” Taeyong remains unimpressed by Jeno’s bumbling. He laughs nervously, “I mean, he’s a really good supervisor–we’re just about to head to that new skewer place nearby–we should all go together!”

Doyoung, dear _god_ , experiences Jeno’s innocence on a whole other level.

“You’re having dinner together?” Taeyong jaw tightens, “Just the two of you?”

The tension is palpable and Doyoung _hears_ Jeno swallow. He excuses himself quickly, taking his laptop from Doyoung’s arms and hurries back into the office, head ducked low. Doyoung waits until Jeno’s down the corner before he lets go, stepping away, “Why are you here?”

Taeyong’s eyes widen, “Why are you being like this?”

Doyoung shakes his head, feels his cheeks heat up, “Forget it.”

“ _Please_ , Doyoung!” Taeyong’s voice drops low, but it almost echoes in the empty office. It’s past business hours now, and the only living souls still here are in the wing down the hall, “For how long more are you going to stay mad at me?”

Doyoung turns for his cubicle, hears Taeyong follow him in. It’s not the first time Taeyong’s been up here, but it’s the first they’re taking an argument this far, “I’ve already said I’m not mad.”

Taeyong grabs him, whirls him around, “Then stop acting like it!”

“Don’t do this here.” Doyoung snatches his hand away, “I work here.”

“You left me no choice.” Taeyong’s eyes dart across the empty floor before continuing, “You ignore me at home, you ignore my texts, my calls–I don’t exist to you anymore, is that it?”

Doyoung moves to his table, swiftly packing his things, “I just don’t want to talk.”

Taeyong rounds the desk to corner Doyoung, standing by Doyoung’s side, “Okay, we don’t have to talk.” He holds onto the sleeve of Doyoung’s jacket, “Just–don’t pretend I don’t exist.”

“I never said that.” Doyoung zips his backpack up–painfully, an expensive gift from Taeyong during his birthday years ago–and shrugs Taeyong off, gently, “I have a dinner to get to.”

“Don’t go,” Taeyong pleads. He sidesteps, blocking Doyoung’s path, “Please just tell me what to do to fix this, Doyoung, please don’t be angry at me anymore, okay?” Taeyong’s eyes shine, wet near the rims, “I don’t know what to do now, please just forgive me–please–”

Doyoung closes his eyes, “This is exactly what I mean.” Taeyong stills. Doyoung sighs, moving to rest his weight against his table, “If I walked up to your office and saw you with another guy, I’d get jealous, Taeyong. Just like you are now. But the difference is–you’d tell me I shouldn’t be jealous. That I can’t be jealous.”

Taeyong wrings his hands, “I wouldn’t, I promise, I won’t ever–”

“But it’s fine–I just won’t get jealous anymore.”

Taeyong breathes deeply, “Please, _please_ , Doyoung–”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I just–really don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Doyoung hitches his backpack on a shoulder, “I’ll see you at home after dinner, okay?”

“No.”

“Taeyong–”

“Tell me you still love me.”

“ _Taeyong_.”

“I’m scared, Doyoung!” He wipes at his cheeks, “You’re making this into a big deal–I don’t understand why you can’t just tell me how to _fix_ it–please just tell me! I didn’t mean to say that you’d cheat on me, I never said that! I want you to be jealous, you can do whatever you want, alright?”

Doyoung brings a hand up to his eyes, feels his own tears threatening to push through, “This isn’t what I meant–”

“What _do_ you mean?” Taeyong cries, hiccups through his words, “Because you don’t seem like you want to work things out with me anymore and you’re just angry at me and it feels like you hate me!”

 _Does he really think that I could hate him?_ Doyoung presses against his eyelids, refusing to let the tears fall, “How could I–I don’t _hate_ you, Taeyong, I–”

“Then are you just stringing me along?” Taeyong holds onto the back of his office chair, “Or are you just deciding whether or not to break up with me? Is that what you’re waiting for?”

Doyoung drops his hand and the sight of Taeyong crying breaks him. As many fights and as many arguments they’ve had, this has been the longest, but the thought of breaking up has never crossed Doyoung’s mind. Taeyong watches him, fresh rolling down his cheeks with every blink.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

Doyoung whispers, hoarse, “No.” Taeyong breathes. His entire frame shakes like a leaf, a shuddery sigh escaping his lips. He stumbles backwards and Doyoung jerks forward to catch him, “ _Taeyong_.”

“Then forgive me.” Taeyong grabs onto him, covers Doyoung’s hand with his own. His knuckles are turning white from how hard he’s holding on, “You either forgive me and we move on, or we–Doyoung, I can’t wake up and spend another day wondering if you’re ever going to love me again.”

“I love you,” Doyoung whispers. He sees the light leave Taeyong’s eyes, “I love you, Taeyong. I couldn’t ever stop loving you.” Taeyong’s lips part like he genuinely didn’t think that; Doyoung wipes at his tears before they roll off his chin, “I don’t know how to face you–I’m acting like such a kid, because you’re right, I’m making a big deal out of nothing and I don’t know what to do now either.”

Taeyong says nothing. He throws his arms around Doyoung’s neck, buries his face in the crook of Doyoung’s shoulder, sniffling wetly. Doyoung hugs Taeyong by the waist, worries at how he can tell in an instant that Taeyong’s dropped in weight.

“I’ll go with you to the concert,” he says, breathing Taeyong in. How long has it been since they’ve last looked at each other, not to mention hug? “If you haven’t already told Yuta about it.”

“I didn’t tell him.” Taeyong rests his weight against Doyoung, melting to the hug, “I didn’t want to go if you were mad at me.”

Doyoung _hates_ that, “I would’ve wanted you to go, Taeyong, even if I were mad–which I’m not.”

“How could I still go?” Taeyong noses against Doyoung’s neck, lips brushing against him, “I wanted you to go with me, and after–I didn’t even want to think of going. I couldn’t think of going–I just wanted you to not be angry at me.”

“I wasn’t angry–”

“Doyoung.”

“I was–annoyed.” Doyoung feels Taeyong frown against him, “I just didn’t like that you thought I was capable of even thinking about cheating.”

Taeyong withers, “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.” Doyoung stops himself from saying, _But at some point, I’m sure you thought it,_ “I know, and I’m sorry.”

“I just–get protective over you.” Taeyong softens, “And I know it’s unfair and I trust you, Doyoung, it’s just–if I see you with someone else, I–I stop thinking. My mind shuts down and all I can think about is how I’m going to lose you.”

“I’m not–”

“But I’m working on it, okay?” Taeyong clings, “I–I’ll go home now, and you can have dinner with your intern and I promise I won’t get jealous, I won’t even wait up for you–”

“I don’t want that, Taeyong.” Doyoung kisses Taeyong on the shell of his ear, “Jealousy–it’s healthy sometimes, and I don’t want to make you upset–let’s take it slow, okay? Why don’t you come with us to dinner? We were just going to discuss a couple of work things.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to–”

“I’m sure.” He unsticks Taeyong from him to kiss him gently on the lips, nothing more. Plucking a few tissues from his desk, he wipes at Taeyong’s cheeks and kisses them once each apologetically. A fight that’s lasted days just for them to both breakdown in tears.

“Will your intern be alright with it?”

“Proabably.” Doyoung stands, taking Taeyong’s hand in his and kissing the back of it. He looks over the rows of cubicles, “Though maybe…”

Taeyong looks too, “What?”

“Well, I think–you might have already scared him off, Taeyong.”


	27. concert - johnil - angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: ambiguous ending

“Yuta says we should go over to Jaehyun’s at like, six? Which is pretty early for dinner, I know, but you know how long it takes to get Doyoung drunk these days.” Youngho says this as he dries the dishes with a kitchen towel, stacking them neatly on the metal rack by the side, “I’ll come by at five-thirty?”

Taeil nods, silently taking in the information for their big plan this Friday. He rinses off a soapy plate, “What time’s the concert?”

“Doors open at eight.” Youngho picks up a bowl, “And the club’s a half hour train ride from the city, so we should probably account for that too…”

“Right.” Taeil runs his hands over plate once more, then sets it aside for Youngho, “And what concert is this again?”

“It’s not really a _concert_ concert,” Youngho says. “It’s a show, I guess–a couple of artists are going to be performing and it’s at the nightclub Yuta used to bartend at so he managed to snag a couple of tickets for free.”

_A nightclub._

Taeil runs their spoons and chopsticks under the tap, shutting it off when all the suds swirl down the sink. He gives them a little shake before reaching past Youngho to tuck them into the little holder hanging off the side of the drying rack. Wordlessly, he wipes his hands dry against the dry towel hanging by the sink. Youngho finishes up on drying the last plate.

“So, five-thirty?” Youngho’s hands, cold and damp, sneak their way to rest on Taeil’s waist, holding the older boy in place. From this close, Taeil is actively reminded of how pretty Youngho’s lips are, “I go home and change before coming by here–don’t wanna have to smell like the lab the entire night.”

Taeil’s heart does a weird skip, and he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Usually, he’d throw them around Youngho’s shoulders, but a sinking feeling tells him not to.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.” Taeil fiddles with his fingers, gaze wavering instantly at the slightest crease of Youngho’s brow, “I– I think I have to work on Friday.”

“Oh.” He tilts his head to the side, “That’s okay, I’ll pick you up at the company and we could go straight to Jaehyun’s together.”

_Right._ Taeil has never been good at lying. But then again, he’s never been in a position that needed him to come up with excuses to not attend a concert in a nightclub. As much as he would love to meet Youngho’s friends, as much as he would love to watch them get drunk off their asses, as much as he would love to spend three hours tolerating intolerable music, Taeil thinks he just might be a little too _old_ for a scene like this.

“I mean–” He reaches for Youngho’s shirt, unwittingly leaning away when Youngho moves a little closer to hear his mumbling, “Maybe you should just go to the concert without me.”

“Without you?” Youngho blinks, “If you’re worried about being late, we don’t have to meet the others for dinner, honestly, we could just head to the club and grab a small bite on the way there.”

Taeil pulls recoils, nudging at Youngho’s arm to escape his boyfriend’s hold. He steps back and a look of concern immediately replaces Youngho’s confused expression. Taeil speaks before Youngho can, “That’s not it.”

“What? What is it?” Youngho moves slowly, as if he were afraid of spooking Taeil.

“I just–” Taeil rounds the kitchen island, placing space between them. He didn’t want Youngho to be upset with him for not wanting to go, but the thought of having to spend Friday night out when he could be spending it in _bed_ , “I just don’t think the club is–somewhere I want to be on a Friday night.”

Youngho wrinkles his nose, “Why not?”

Taeil shrugs, bringing his hands up to hug himself, “I mean, I guess I’d rather be at home than in a room with no windows and a hundred other people.” He hurries to amend when Youngho remains speechless, “You could go, I mean–you _should_ go. And you know, have fun with your friends and stuff. I just don’t think I would–want to go.”

Youngho frowns, “But I’ll be there.”

Taeil grips his arms a little tighter, _of course he doesn’t understand._ A year isn’t too much of a difference, but with how Taeil’s already in the workforce and how Youngho’s still exploiting the freedom of being a university student–a year can mean more than it leads on to mean.

“And if you didn’t want to go, why didn’t you tell me beforehand?” Youngho scratches at the back of his neck, “I’ve already told everyone you’d be coming…”

“I didn’t want you to be upset,” Taeil reasons. He suddenly regrets placing the distance between them, suddenly wants to cup Youngho’s cheek and have him smile again. “And they won’t mind if I don’t come along, they’re your friends anyway.”

Youngho looks up, “They’re your friends too.”

“Only because you’re dating me,” Taeil says, slowly. Youngho’s frown deepens, “They’re not my friends by choice, Youngho, clearly–”

“They’re not like that,” Youngho interjects. He stares like he can’t believe his ears, “They’re not friends with you just because they think they have to be, Taeil.”

“Okay.” This conversation is moving far too quick for Taeil to control, “I didn’t mean to say that they’re not good people, Youngho, I just–don’t want to spend Friday night at a nightclub.”

“It’s not just a nightclub.” Youngho puffs out his cheeks, eyes searching Taeil’s face, “It’s–spending time with me and my friends.”

“And I wouldn’t mind that at all.” Taeil hesitates going over to Youngho, “A nightclub isn’t somewhere I want to spend Friday night, that’s all.”

Youngho opens his mouth to speak, then clamps it shut. He breathes through his nose before turning away, shortly, “Fine.”

Taeil’s gut twists, “Hey.” Youngho starts to leave the kitchen, and Taeil’s legs move before he can even think how ridiculous of an argument this is. What’s the big deal–not wanting to go to a nightclub? “Youngho–”

“It’s just one night, Taeil,” he says, stopping in his tracks. Taeil catches himself before his nose bumps into Youngho’s shoulder, “And I haven’t hung out with my friends in a really long while, considering how busy it’s been at the university and how this the first break we’ve all had in a while.”

“I said you should go,” Taeil protests. He had, hadn’t he? “I didn’t say you couldn’t go, Youngho, why would I say that?”

“I know, but I want you to come with me.”

“Why? I wouldn’t even fit in there and I’m sure your friends wouldn’t think–”

“I just _want_ you to be there,” Youngho interrupts. He steps away, turning to look at Taeil, “Just like how you want me to be there at your office party, at your cousin’s wedding, at your alumni reunion.”

Taeil bites on his lip, “You didn’t–want to go to those?”

“I wasn’t exactly bursting out the front door to watch you discuss politics with your co-worker over a full-course dinner,” Youngho shrugs. “But I still went, because I wanted you to be with you and because you wanted me there.”

Taeil can’t deny that.

“It’s okay.” Youngho waves dimissively between them, “You don’t have to go this Friday if you don’t want to.”

Taeil stares at him, “Are you–sure? If you want me to go, I’ll–”

“It’s fine, Taeil. I’m not going to force you to come along if you don’t want to.”

“Youngho–”

“We’re fine,” he says, with finality. Over his shoulder, “We’re fine.”


	28. hogwarts au - dojae - fluff

“No running in the halls! No running!”

“There he goes again, acting like the hallway’s got his name written all over it.” Jaehyun tries not to look up from where he’s frantically scribbling at his Potions essay. Quidditch practice had overran yesterday evening and the time Jaehyun’d set aside to work on this insufferable essay was used for sleep in a bed that wasn’t his. Beside him, Kim Mingyu snorts, “He’s yelling at first-years! What a prick.”

“Well, they shouldn’t be running in the halls,” Jaehyun mutters. He rereads his paper and figures he can’t understand any of it, but Professor Kim’s always had a soft spot for him–he’ll be fine with an Acceptable. “He’s just doing his job as Prefect.”

Mingyu raps his knuckles against the table, “ _You’re_ Prefect. I don’t see you yelling at first-years.”

“I haven’t the time for things like that.” Jaehyun scoops his scrolls and quills, shoves them into his rugged bookbag in one swift motion. If Youngho were here, he’d chastise him to take better care of his stationary, but seeing as he isn’t, Jaehyun ignores the nagging worry. His class is in the dungeons today and while it’s already a bit of a walk from fifth, the grand staircase is always an extra puzzle he has to figure out, “I’ve got to get to class, I’ll catch you later.”

“There! He’s yelling at Gryffindor first-years, Jaehyun, you have to talk to him about his ridiculous–”

“Alright, alright,” Jaehyun sighs. He hurries out of the classroom, loosening his tie as he goes, eyes trained to the back of Kim Doyoung’s head. As he nears, he hears Doyoung, the seventh-year Slytherin Prefect, issue a first-year a stern warning before letting the terrified boy sprint down the hall, scarlet robes billowing behind him. Jaehyun lifts a hand, taps Doyoung lightly on the shoulder, “Hey.”

Doyoung whirls, eyes flashing. His features soften for a moment, recognition evident, but then his lips are pressed tightly once more, “Jung Jaehyun.”

“You don’t have to call me by my full name, you know?”

“I know, Jung Jaehyun.” Doyoung’s lips twitch at the corners, refusing to smile, “What do you want?”

“Your incessant nagging down the halls are scaring some of the students.” Jaehyun figures it’d be better if he didn’t reveal how the students thought Doyoung were annoying–being scary sounded better, “We’re only a few weeks into the term, Doyoung.”

“And you’re already behind on your work, aren’t you?”

Jaehyun makes a face, “That’s personal.”

Doyoung snorts, “It’s hardly personal when you’re creeping into my bed at midnight, complaining about how you haven’t any time to study. Maybe if you didn’t spend all that time on the Quidditch pitch, hey.”

Jaehyun’s cheeks warm, “Maybe if you didn’t want to keep us a secret, I wouldn’t have to _bother_ you at night.”

Doyoung flinches. He looks up and down the hall before taking Jaehyun by the arm, leading them into the Prefects’ Bathroom down the corner. The heavy door closes behind them both and Jaehyun clamps his mouth shut when Doyoung stalks towards him, eyes narrowed, “What’s going on?”

“Sorry, I–” Jaehyun rubs at his eyes tiredly, “I didn’t get much sleep after I went back to the Gryffindor Tower yesterday, and I had to be up early for Prefect Duty. I’m just a little tired.”

Doyoung’s shoulders drop, “Have you had any breakfast?”

Jaehyun shakes his head, “I was rushing my paper.”

“Baby,” Doyoung sighs. He makes a fluid motion with his hands and there’s swishing in a distance before a chocolate bar–the ones from the Kitchens, Jaehyun recognizes–comes floating through the air vents. He unwraps it quickly and hands it to Jaehyun, who takes it gratefully, “You’re hungry. No wonder you’re all grumpy on me.”

“Sorry,” Jaehyun mumbles, nibbling on the corner. He runs a hand through his hair, and Doyoung steps closer, a hand on his waist, “I didn’t mean to say–”

“I know,” Doyoung says. He cups Jaehyun’s cheek, has the younger boy raise hesitant eyes. Doyoung smiles, and Jaehyun’s heart flutters–it didn’t matter if the entire student body thought Doyoung to be the strictest Prefect on the block, Doyoung was the sweetest boyfriend Jaehyun’ll ever have, “We agreed we’d tell our friends only when we’re ready, you know that, right? I’m not hiding you, Jaehyun, you’re not a secret.”

“I know,” Jaehyun says. He takes a big bite from the chocolate bar, chewing slowly, “And I–I don’t think I’d be ready to tell my team about us–they’d banned me from playing if we’re going against Slytherin.”

Doyoung’s lower lip juts out in understanding, “Well, you did save me from a Bludger during one of our friendly matches. Kim Yugyeom still questions me about that, says you’ve got some massive crush on me that I should do everything in my power to exploit you for it.”

Jaehyun shrugs, “He isn’t entirely wrong.” Doyoung gives him a questioning look, “I do have a massive crush on you, Kim Doyoung.”

“That’s fair, seeing as I have one on you too,” Doyoung beams. He tucks an invisible tuft of hair behind Jaehyun’s ear, palm against Jaehyun’s cheek, “Will you be okay in class today?”

Jaehyun nods, lifting the chocolate bar, “This really helped.”

“I’ll come up to the tower today, okay?” Doyoung promises, “Just make sure your roommates aren’t up when I do.”

“Okay,” Jaehyun smiles. He leans forward and grins when he sees Doyoung’s eyes flutter close, expecting the kiss. He thinks to pull away but he can’t be bothered to, kissing Doyoung squarely on the lips.

Doyoung sighs into the kiss, tongue peeking out just to lick at the top of Jaehyun’s lip, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jaehyun mumbles. He kisses Doyoung once more before he leaves first–because they can’t be seen leaving together (yet)–and with a light heart, he jogs the entire way to the dungeons, grinning at the thought of _tonight_.


	29. hogwarts au - xuxikun - fluff

“Are you going to Hogsmeade today?”

Kun eats the bite of hash brown off his fork, blinking slowly, “No. I don’t think so.”

“Didn’t Xuxi ask you?” From across the table, Doyoung is busy cutting up his bacon strip into tiny pieces, looking up periodically only to make sure Kun’ still here, “I saw him and a couple of his friends down by the Great Court this morning–looked like they were all dressed for a trip down.”

“He asked me last week,” Kun says, thinking back. He uses the side of his fork to cut himself a small piece of sausage, “And the week before that, but I couldn’t go because I had to work on a couple of assignments for Transfiguration.”

The look Doyoung gives him is anything but understanding, “You ditched him two weeks in a row?”

Kun sits up at the accusation, “I didn’t ditch him. I had work to do.”

Doyoung studies him for a second, as if contemplating his desire to be involved in the conversation they’re about to have. He sighs, “Look, Kun, you’re probably the nicest person I’ve ever met and you’re a really caring guy, but you’ve to understand that Xuxi has _needs_.”

Instantly, Kun’s feels his cheeks burn.

“Not _those_ needs,” Doyoung clicks his tongue. He gestures as he speaks, “I mean–alright, as a fellow Ravenclaw, I understand the innate want and need for space, but Hufflepuffs–they don’t get that.” Kun listens carefully, having never thought about this before, “They like to snuggle up with one another in the basement and they like to do everything together like a litter of puppies.”

Kun lowers his fork, “Really?”

“Really,” Doyoung nods. He goes back to cutting up his bacon strip, “I’ve been dating Lee Taeyong for two–almost three–years now and by Merlin’s _beard_ if that hasn’t exposed me to enough of his Hufflepuff tendencies.” Doyoung purses his lips, “I remember the first time it was examination season and he wanted to study together, but I told him that I didn’t want to–I mean, we aren’t even in the same year.”

“What happened?”

“We fought because he thought I didn’t want to spend time with him,” Doyoung grimaces at the memory. “Said he thought I was starting to get tired of him and we fought over it for ages, over Christmas too, and I had to explain to him that it wasn’t _like_ that–the whole nines.”

All at once, Kun worries. Did Xuxi think the same way too? Was that the reason he hasn’t seen his lovable boyfriend over the past week? He hadn’t exactly noticed Xuxi to be avoiding him–seeing him in the Great Hall during meals–but it’s undeniable that there’s been a Xuxi-shaped void he hasn’t noticed.

“I can hear you worrying,” Doyoung snorts. He’s finally done with his bacon strip, eating it daintily now, “But as you can see, I still am dating that same Lee Taeyong, as much as it frustrates me to no end when he insists we do everything together.” Kun looks over Doyoung’s head to the Hufflepuff table, heart stuttering when he doesn’t spot the familiar head of brown hair, “But I’d rather do everything with him than nothing at all, so–”

“I should go–find him.” Kun stands, “Talk to him.”

“You probably should,” Doyoung answers honestly.

“Right.” Kun thanks Doyoung under his breath before hurrying out of the Great Hall. He passes Lee Taeyong on the way out, but the older boy doesn’t even slow down, heading straight for the Ravenclaw table with the widest grin on his face. With effort, Kun searches the halls leading up to the school’s back-gate, exhaling loudly when he sees Xuxi, standing tall over his friends, “Xi!”

Xuxi turns, eyes scanning the large field in surprise before they land on Kun. His expression remaind unredable, but he turns to excuse himself from his friends when Kun hurries down the path. He meets Kun halfway, hands reaching out for him, “Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

Kun deadens at that. He didn’t look for Xuxi only when there was an issue, did he? “Nothing,” he says, taking Xuxi’s hands. “I just–are you going down to the village?”

“Yeah,” Xuxi nods. His lips are so pink, and the warm color of his tanned skin is charming against his Hufflepuff scarf, “Did you–did you want to go?”

“I–” Kun gapes, “I–no, but I–I was just wondering why you didn’t ask me.”

Xuxi stares at him, “What?”

“I mean–” Kun holds on a little tighter, hopes he doesn’t sound too daft, “You’re not angry at me, right? For not coming with you last week? And the–week before that?”

Xuxi hesitates, and Kun frowns. “I’m not mad, ge–I was, a little, when I asked you the second time, but I know you had to study, it’s okay now.”

“Because I really had to study,” Kun says. He doesn’t care that Xuxi’s friends are watching them from afar, that they probably think the worst of Kun for ditching Xuxi during the only times the student body gets to go on dates off school grounds, “It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you.”

Xuxi breaks into a smile, good-natured and so painfully handsome that Kun has to stop breathing for a second, “I know. I didn’t ask you this week because a couple of us are getting some supplies for Minhyung’s birthday tonight and well, it wasn’t going to be a date, you know–just us two.”

Kun breathes, “Let’s go together next week then. Just you and me.”

Xuxi lights up, “Okay.” He pulls Kun into a bear hug, whispering lowly, “You’re the best.”

“I love you,” Kun returns. He kisses Xuxi quickly on the cheek, motioning for him to get going. But before Xuxi can get too far, “Not too much Firewhisky tonight, okay!”

“Of course not,” Xuxi winks, “I wouldn’t risk getting suspended–not when I’ve got a date next week with the cutest boy ever.”

Kun stands, for a good five minutes after Xuxi and his friends take their leave, in the middle of the field, trying his best to calm his thundering heart and trying his best not to melt right here and now.


	30. hogwarts au- markmin - fluff

_Why are you in the library?_ Jaemin’s charmed messages come flying in, twice in succession on ripped pieces of parchment, _It’s a Tuesday morning, Min._ And, _I don’t even know where the library is._

Minhyung rolls his eyes, vanishing the letters with quick spell. They both are well aware that Jaemin’s definitely the smarter one between them two–he scores Outstandings in every single subject with half the effort Minhyung has to put in for an Outstanding.

_Are you in the Ravenclaw library?_

Minhyung frowns, _Why would I be at the Ravenclaw library?_

_I don’t know where the other library is._

Minhyung sighs, cradling his head in his hands, sleeves of his scarlet robes draping across the table. _Then don’t come over. I’m just studying anyway._

_What about breakfast? I didn’t see you in the Great Hall._

Minhyung crumples the letter up and tosses it into the air behind him, mumbling a spell to have it disintegrate before it hits the ground. Examination season always has Minhyung’s shoulders up to his ears, burying himself in textbooks and revision packets–especially so lately; he needed Outstandings on all of his N.E.W.Ts if he wanted to get that internship at the Ministry, a chance to even apply towards being an Auror.

It didn’t help at all that he’s dating one of their cohort’s smartest students; Jaemin didn’t even take his classes at a sixth-year level like the rest of his friends–he was so advanced in his work that the school board insisted he joined the seventh-years in certain classes, despite being a full year younger. And it most certainly didn’t help that Jaemin isn’t taking his N.E.W.Ts seriously, because, fact is, he doesn’t need to. He could ace them all without breaking a sweat and for that, Minhyung is undeniable irritated whenever Jaemin refuses to leave him alone to study.

“Found you.” Jaemin, the devil himself, appears, pulling out the empty seat next to Minhyung and dropping into it heavily. He’s a little out of breath, and Minhyung is sorry, though he hadn’t _exactly_ asked for Jaemin to come over. He sets a plate filled with fried eggs, grilled bacon, sausage patties, half an avocado, and some kidney beans on the side, “You made it really hard to, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Minhyung mutters. He doesn’t give the breakfast another glance, focusing instead on his revision packet, “I’ll eat it later.”

“You shouldn’t just throw yourself into studying every day, y’know.” Jaemin leans back against his seat, lifting a foot to nudge at Minhyung’s chair, “That does nothing to help you remember all the stuff you’re trying to shove into your brain.”

Minhyung snorts, “Yeah, well, we can’t all be as inherently smart as you are, Jaemin.”

“Okay, sorry.”

Jaemin drops his foot and the conversation, settling back into the wooden chair. He makes no other noise, but Minhyung feels the stare being bored into the side of his head. He tries to ignore it, but Jaemin is persistent, even in silence, and it’s not five minutes later that Minhyung is turning to glare at him, “What are you still doing here?”

“To be with you,” Jaemin answers, not missing a beat. He toys with his emerald green tie before picking up one of the scrolls Minhyung’d laid out, scanning it quickly, “I like being with you, even if you’re all cranky and constantly mad at me and the world lately.”

That shuts Minhyung up. He turns back to his paper, cheeks burning with undying heat. He hears Jaemin sigh, then set the scroll down.

“If you want me to leave, I can leave, Minhyung.”

He closes his eyes, “I’m sorry, I just–really have to study.” Jaemin doesn’t budge, waiting, “It doesn’t help that you don’t have to in the slightest, and I’m really stressed out over N.E.W.Ts.”

“I could always help you,” Jaemin says quietly. He pulls his chair closer to Minhyung, rests his cheek on Minhyung’s right arm, “We could always study together.”

“But you–”

“It doesn’t matter if I have to or not,” Jaemin shrugs. He hugs Minhyung’s arm, “I want to help. If I could take your N.E.W.Ts for you, I would.”

“That’s academic dishonesty.” Minhyung glances at his boyfriend latched firmly on his arm, clinging tight, “You’d get expelled.”

“Anything for you, honey.” Jaemin laughs when Minhyung rolls his eyes, snuggling closer, “I just want to spend as much time with you before the school year ends, Min.” Minhyung frowns at the reminder of it being their last year together here on campus. He’d always wished he’d given Jaemin a chance earlier, and he regretted ignoring Jaemin’s advances during the first six months they ever became acquainted.

“We’re still going to be together,” Minhyung says. He covers Jaemin’s hand with his own, turning to plant a soft kiss on Jaemin’s crown, “Even after I graduate.”

“But you won’t be _here_ here,” Jaemin sighs. He buries his face into Minhyung’s arm, breathing in deeply, “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Minhyung tells him, a sudden sadness invading his heart. He shakes Jaemin off a little to tilt the younger boy’s chin up towards him, seeking a kiss. Jaemin abides readily, releasing his hold on Minhyung’s arm to steady him by the cheek. “Don’t think so far ahead, okay? We still have time together here, and we’ll have all the time together after you graduate, no matter how long it’s going to feel.”

“I’ll make you write to me every day,” Jaemin says. His eyes shine bright, lips curving up into the smile Minhyung loved so much, “Until you get sick of me.”

“Never,” Minhyung mumbles. He kisses Jaemin again, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jaemin sighs. He, with great effort, detaches himself from Minhyung, “Should I leave you be now then?”

Minhyung bites on his lip. Now that Jaemin’s here, he didn’t want the Slytherin to _leave_. But there’s a nagging thought at the back of his mind that reminds him he’ll never get anything done with Jaemin around. “Yeah,” he says, albeit reluctantly. “But I’ll see you in the Great Hall for dinner? Save me seat.”

“Okay,” Jaemin says. He kisses Minhyung once more, and Minhyung takes another parting kiss, “Can I come over tonight?”

“Yeah,” Minhyung smiles, “Yeah, I’d like that.”


	31. with me/delay - luren - fluff

“I’m sorry, Jun.”

Renjun squints, bringing his phone closer to his face, trying to make out Xuxi’s face. The connection is terrible, wherever the older boy is, and with the line is constantly cutting off, Renjun strains to hear him, “What? What happened?”

“My flight–” Xuxi’s voice crackles. Off the pixelated screen, Renjun notices that Xuxi is out on some street, hair blown around by the wind, “–a delay–can’t catch another one until next week.”

Renjun bolts upright, blanket pooling at his hips, “Next _week_?”

“Sorry,” Xuxi says. He hears the sound of Xuxi’s luggage being rolled against concrete and the chatter of people around him, “The company said there’re–no flights out–so I can’t come home.”

“What?” Renjun grips at the edge of the blanket, pulling it up to his chest, “Aren’t there any other flights?” Xuxi shakes his head, and it lags terribly. Suddenly, the room feels a lot colder, the coldest it’s been since Xuxi left on a work trip two weeks ago. “When’s the next available flight?”

“I don’t know,” Xuxi tells him. Renjun fights the frustration building in his heart, knowing that the circumstances happened out of Xuxi’s control, “I’m sorry, Jun.”

Renjun bites on his lip. With how he’s been going to sleep and waking up alone, the past two weeks have introduced a new brand of loneliness to Renjun. He hated that Xuxi wasn’t around with his boisterous self, long limbs constantly bumping into table and chairs, whining at the top of his voice that he’s far too big for Renjun’s reasonably-sized apartment. He hated that he still had to go to work and pretend like it didn’t hurt him, knowing that he’ll have to go back to an empty home at the end of the day. He hated that Xuxi was so busy during trip, that sometimes he couldn’t spare time to call back either.

“Jun? Are you there?”

“Yeah,” Renjun faces the camera away, wiping at his eyes quickly. He doesn’t want to cry, doesn’t want to make Xuxi feel bad, but he just _misses_ him. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Are you crying?” Xuxi asks. The screen is now just Xuxi’s nose and eyes, holding the phone as close as possible to his face, “Please don’t cry, Jun–I’m so sorry–”

“It’s okay,” Renjun mumbles. He dives back under the blanket, bringing it up to his chin to try and keep the warmth in, “I just miss you.”

“I miss you too.” There’s a burst of light and he hears a door close behind Xuxi; he must be back at his Airbnb by now. All he sees is just Xuxi’s face far too close to the camera, “I’m about to get into the elevator, baobei. I’ll call you back when I get out?”

“Okay,” Renjun mumbles, and then the video cuts off. He lies there for a moment, simply in silence, refusing to let himself sink into utter despair now that he knows he won’t be seeing Xuxi for a _whole_ other week. He thinks to call Chenle tomorrow–maybe they could have dinner together, just so he can take his mind off things.

_Or maybe…_

Maybe he could take a flight down to Xuxi instead. It’s only a two-hour flight and they could make a trip out of it, see some tourist sights, eat some local food, finally sleep in the same bed together again. The thought of it has Renjun’s heart racing and he’s tumbling out of bed without wasting a second, stumbling out into the living room, where he’d left his laptop. He opens the light as he goes, shivering at the coolness outside of his warm bedroom. He didn’t think to put on more than just one of Xuxi’s old shirts and a pair of boxers.

Just as he’s about to retreat into the bedroom, his phone rings again, and Renjun answers it quickly, bringing Xuxi’s face up on his screen, “Hi.”

“I’m back,” Xuxi says. He’s walking down a hall now and Renjun watches as Xuxi comes to a stop, digging through his backpack for his keys. He glances at the screen, “What are you doing outside?”

“Well, I was just thinking,” Renjun makes a detour for the fridge for a glass of water. He notices Xuxi staring at him now, motionless, “What if I came down to you for the weekend? I mean–I could ask for a couple of days off from the lab and we could spend the weekend together and fly back home together.”

Xuxi laughs softly, “You miss me that much?”

“Well, _yeah_.” Renjun sets his laptop down on the counter and grabs a mug to fill it up. He averts his eyes from Xuxi’s fuzzy face, “Of course I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” Xuxi starts to unlock his door, and Renjun barely makes it out under the sound of the tap running, “Don’t be mad, okay?”

Renjun shuts the tap off, “I’m not mad, baobei–it’s not your fault the flight got cancelled. And–” The line drops and Renjun blinks. Had Xuxi cut him off?

“Baby?”

The world stops. Renjun doesn’t even _want_ to turn around, because there’s just no way. There’s no way he isn’t alone in the apartment right now and there’s no way Xuxi could be there right now, except–it’s totally, _absolutely_ plausible for Xuxi to play such a nasty trick on him. He turns robotically, freezing in place once again when he does see Xuxi standing by the threshold to the kitchen, arms out in front of him. His hair’s slicked back and he’s dressed in a sweater and denim jeans, looking excruciatingly lovable that Renjun finds his heart swelling. 

“I’m home, baby.”

And Renjun feels the anger dissipate instantly. He drops the mug into the sink and his phone to the floor, scurrying over linoleum to jump into Xuxi’s open arms, nearly sending them both over.

“You’re here,” he breathes, still not quite believing it. He turns to kiss Xuxi’s ear, tries to convince himself that, “You’re really _here_.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Xuxi laughs. He hitches Renjun higher up against his hip before moving to rest Renjun to sit atop their kitchen counter and standing between Renjun’s legs. Renjun refuses to part, still hiding his face in the crook of Xuxi’s neck, “I felt so guilty when you cried, baobei, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t care,” Renjun mumbles. He pulls away to speak but Xuxi kisses him first, lips soft and plush. He tastes a little bit like coffee, “I just missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” Xuxi hugs him again, laughs as he says, “You’re not mad at me for tricking you, are you?”

“No,” Renjun grumbles. He wraps his legs around Xuxi’s waist, ignoring the jabs of Xuxi’s belt against his thighs, “I’m just–happy you’re here. With me.”

“I’m happy I’m here too,” Xuxi kisses him again, whispers against his lips, “With you.”


	32. turning left/i don't care - markhyuck - fluff, slight angst

Donghyuck knows Minhyung is shy. He knows how holding hands and linking arms were once actions Minhyung never thought of doing ever in public. He knows how far Minhyung’s come, occasionally reaching for Donghyuck’s hand while they’re grocery shopping, surveying the aisles. He knows all this, but he knows best that Minhyung doesn’t mean it when he pulls away, whenever, wherever.

He knows this after ten years of being best friends and three months of dating. He knows.

“I’m sorry,” Minhyung says now. He’s on Donghyuck’s tail as they hurry out into the parking lot, the night enveloping them both. “Hyuck, wait–”

“Don’t apologize,” Donghyuck tells him, turning left immediately when he spots Minhyung’s beaten-up Corolla three rows away. He shoves his hands into his pockets, “We’re fine.”

“I didn’t mean to brush you off,” Minhyung continues, urgency dripping from his voice. Donghyuck exhales sharply–he really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. If they did, he knows it’d turn into a fight again, “I really didn’t, Hyuck, I just–”

“Come on, give it a rest,” Donghyuck sighs. He gives Minhyung a loaded look, trying to convey just how much he doesn’t want to fight tonight, “I said it’s fine and I’ve already forgotten about it so can we just–”

“But I’m _sorry_.” Minhyung picks up the pace, walking in-step with Donghyuck now, “I just–I just wasn’t expecting you to hold my hand. I didn’t mean to step away and when Jisung pointed it out, I didn’t–know what to say–”

Donghyuck jerks to a stop and Minhyung nearly trips over his feet when he does. Icily, “Are you done?”

“I know you’re angry at me, and I’m sorry–”

“I’m not _angry_.” Donghyuck pulls Minhyung by the elbow until they’re out of the way, standing by the Corolla, “I’m not angry, Min. I know you and I know how you react. I don’t care what anyone else says or thinks, I don’t care about that at all, so could you please just stop apologizing? I don’t want you apologizing over something I don’t even care all that much about.”

Minhyung listens, eyes wide with evident guilt.

“I won’t lie and say that it doesn’t annoy me whenever you look like I’m chasing you with a chainsaw whenever I try and hold your hand but–”

“A _chainsaw_ –”

“I never want you to be,” Donghyuck struggles to say, “uncomfortable around me.” Minhyung exhales softly, “I don’t care if you don’t know want to hold my hand or kiss me when the others are around, Min, I just want you to be comfortable with me.”

“I’m comfortable around you,” Minhyung mumbles. He reaches for Donghyuck now, hidden by the dark, “I just don’t–want you to think that I don’t want this.”

Donghyuck laces their fingers together, “What?”

“Us.”

Donghyuck sighs, a small smile threatening to break through, “I want us too.”

“Hyuck, I–”

“They’re over there–”

Donghyuck looks up at the sound of Jaemin’s voice echoing across the parking lot and he turns to see boy jogging over to them, an even taller silhouette not far behind. As they approach, Donghyuck tries to pull his hand way but Minhyung holds them steady. He stares, tries to figure if Minhyung’s ready for another round of teasing–Donghyuck couldn’t care less–but Minhyung’s attention is on their friends now, shoulders squared.

“I’m glad we caught up with you guys,” Jaemin says, a little out of breath.

Donghyuck clears his throat, “What’s up?”

“Jisung here,” Jaemin huffs, harshly yanking the younger boy forward by his elbow, “Has something to say to you guys.”

Jisung squirms under their gazes. His eyes flit to where Minhyung and Donghyuck’s hands are intertwined, then up at Jeemin again, “Seriously? Donghyuck said it was okay that I–”

“I don’t care if the President or a talking dog said it was okay,” Jaemin interjects. He holds onto Jisung’s arm firmly, gesturing at Minhyung, “And even if Hyuck _did_ say it was okay, you have something to say to Min, don’t you?”

Jisung ducks his head low, “I’m sorry.” Donghyuck squeezes Minhyung’s hand reassuringly when he feels the older boy tense up, “I shouldn’t have made fun of you earlier–about the–the–you know–the joke about the–the–you know–”

“It’s okay,” Minhyung says then, saving them all from watching Jisung suffer like that. “I know you were just–joking around.”

“But it isn’t something to joke about,” Jisung says, sounding exactly like he was repeating Jaemin’s words. Donghyuck hides a smile, “I shouldn’t be commenting on others’ relationships. And I definitely shouldn’t be doing it at the dinner table. Where they’re sitting–you know–in front of me.”

“It really is okay,” Minhyung says. He reaches forward to give Jisung a pat on the shoulder, “I didn’t take it to heart, Jisung.”

“We’re okay?” Jaemin asks this time, eyes darting between Minhyung and Donghyuck. He smiles when the both of them nod in unison, “Care for some ice cream then?”

Donghyuck looks to Minhyung, who nods, “That sounds great.”

“Good, because,” Jaemin leads the way back towards the stores, tugging Jisung along with him, “This kid here had half my steak and my fries so I could really use some dessert.”

Jisung’s eyes widen at the accusation, “But you said you didn’t want them!”

“How could I want them when you were practically salivating over them the entire time?” Jaemin snorts, linking his arm with Jisung’s, “Don’t look at me like that–I wouldn’t have let you have them if I didn’t love you, you dummy. Now you just have to buy me ice cream.”

“Hey,” Minhyung says, quietly now under Jisung’s grumbling. Donghyuck turns to him, their shoulders bumping, “I love you, you know.”

Donghyuck beams, lips curving upwards, “I love you too.” He turns away then, and hurriedly, before they’re under bright lights once more, Minhyung kisses him lighty on the cheek. Donghyuck stuns, blushing all the way up to his ears, and when he turns to ask about it, Minhyung is already looking away, pretending to be invested heavily in his cuticles.

And Donghyuck knows again that he really couldn’t care less if Minhyung wasn’t ready to hold his hand or initiate any sort of touch between them when they were with their friends; he’d rather share hidden kisses with Minhyung under the stars anyway.


	33. a dinner on friday - yujae - fluff, slice of life

On Friday evenings, Jaehyun waits on the corner two blocks down from his apartment. It’s the corner closest to the nearest subway station’s exit and he waits there for at least fifteen minutes every week. It’s not that long of a wait so he doesn’t really mind it, filling his time flicking through Netflix’s new releases or clearing out any emails he hadn’t had the time to earlier in the day. Though, it’s usually by the ten-minute mark that a familiar figure is approaching him, hurrying up the stairs and jogging over to where Jaehyun’s leaning by a streetlight.

“Sorry,” Yuta says, a little out of breath. He runs a hand through his hair and sidesteps when a bunch of commuters flood up the pavement, “Work ran a little long.”

“That’s okay.” Jaehyun tucks his phone away and grabs onto Yuta’s hand, shifting them so that Yuta would walk on the inner side of the pavement. Jaehyun dodges any passersby as he asks, “What do you want for dinner?”

Yuta pulls Jaehyun a little closer to keep him from being trampled, holding on to the younger boy’s arm, “Can we just get some takeout? Maybe from that Thai place? I’m a little–tired from work.”

“Sure,” Jaehyun kisses the Yuta’s temple chastely, “Sounds like a good plan.”

“Thanks,” Yuta says. He leads them down right, “How was work today?”

“Alright,” Jaehyun follows. “Senior management assigned me to work with Youngho for one of our upcoming projects, and I think he’s trying to rope Taeyong into working with us too, so hopefully it’ll be a smooth one.”

“You’ll be okay,” Yuta hums. “Wherever possible, I’ve grouped with them in all of my university classes and it’s always been alright. Though, I’d be glad to help get them in line if you need me to.”

Jaehyun smiles. After graduating, Yuta had asked Youngho–one of his best friends from university–if there were any internship spots at the large banking consultancy firm he was working for and thankfully there had been, landing Jaehyun a permanent job easily. Yuta, on the other hand, worked for a small media company that focused on politics; with both their long hours and endless workload, they still manage to find time and make things work between them.

By the time they’re back in the apartment, Jaehyun is glad they decided to have their date-night in the comforts of their own home. Yuta takes his shower first while Jaehyun sets out to feed their two cats–Frodo and Sam–and makes sure they’re both satisfied enough for the rest of the night. Jaehyun showers next, accepting the sweet kiss Yuta gives him when he walks in for his turn.

Yuta turns when he emerges from their bedroom, towel draped over his shoulder. He’s already seated by their coffee table, where their dinner’s laid out neatly. The cats seem to have no interest in them, Frodo lounging on top of their bookcase and Sam in one of ther many cat towers Yuta’d drunkenly ordered off Amazon.

“I put on some Law and Order,” Yuta says, inviting Jaehyun to sit on the floor beside him. He starts to open up the containers, and Jaehyun’s stomach grumbles at the tantalizing smell of their dinner, “Figured we could continue from where we left off last week.”

Jaehyun nods. He didn’t really mind what they were watching anyway, especially when it’s just going to serve as background noise. Yuta stands again to get a paper bag for their rubbish and Jaehyun takes the time to plate some rice for them both, starting to eat only when Yuta’s returned and settled in once more.

“So,” Yuta says, scooping himself some green curry, “I had lunch with my manager today.”

Jaehyun chews slowly, listening attentively.

“If the next two campaigns I’m leading does well with the public,” Yuta smiles nervously, “I could get promoted by the end of the year.”

“What?” Jaehyun pats at Yuta’s thigh where it’s draped across his legs, “That’s amazing, oh my god!”

“I know,” Yuta grins. He takes a bite of his rice and curry, speaking through it, “It’s got a pay raise and a new office and everything.” Jaehyun beams, excited for Yuta and the prospects of a promotion, “But–it also means longer hours at work.”

Jaehyun stops the frown before it surfaces, “What do you mean?”

“I might have to work overtime on days we’re rushing deadlines, or maybe even over the weekends if it’s a really big campaign.” Yuta sighs, leaning forward to curl against Jaehyun, resting his head on Jaehyun’s shoulder, “I’m worried about that.”

Jaehyun wraps an arm around Yuta’s shoulders, hugging him close, “Why?”

“I don’t want to spend all my time working,” Yuta admits. He sets his plate down on the coffee table in favor of hugging Jaehyun by the waist, “I still want to take trips with you over weekends and have enough time to just–I don’t know, lie in bed with you.”

Jaehyun’s heart doubles, “I want that too.” He places his own plate aside, “We’ll have time to do all that stuff together, we can work around your long hours.” Yuta buries himself into Jaehyun’s chest, “I could bring dinner to you instead next time and we could eat together at your office–I wouldn’t mind catching on some work while waiting for you.”

Yuta sighs, “Thank you.” He maneuvers himself until he’s fully seated on Jaehyun’s lap, “I just–want to make sure I don’t spend too much time at work, you know? Like, I want the promotion and all its benefits, but I don’t want to live just to work.”

“I know,” Jaehyun mumurs. He kisses the top of Yuta’s head, smelling the coconut shampoo they share in the shower, “Let’s just take it easy for now, okay? We’ll ease into your new promotion together and work out all the kinks.”

“Okay.” Yuta tilts his face up, planting a soft kiss on the underside of Jaehyun’s jaw, “I love you.”

And it’s in the most mundane of times they have together that Jaehyun is reminded, _Yeah_ , “I love you too, baby.”


	34. lip gloss/concert - noren - fluff

Renjun stands and the world spins. Maybe he shouldn’t have had all those Jack and Cokes.

“Where–you going?” Donghyuck is holding onto his wrist, words slurred. In his other hand, his vodka cranberry sloshes around.

“Bathroom,” Renjun mumbles.

“I’ll come with,” Donghyuck says. He tips the rest of his drink into his mouth and shudders. Unsteadily, he gets to his feet too, hooking an arm with Renjun’s. Together, they stumble out of the seating area and into the hallway, swaying from one end to another, “I should–call Min.”

Renjun nods. Minhyung was the one who invited them to this shoddy concert anyway; it didn’t seem all that appealing–a three-hour concert with subpar artists–but Minhyung promised there to be five-dollar highballs and no university student could deny such a deal.

“Baby,” Donghyuck whines now, loud and unrestrained. It bounces off the walls and Renjun is too drunk to care about the stares they’re getting, “Where are you? I can’t see you.”

Renjun speeds up when he sees the sign to the bathroom and he slips out of Donghyuck’s hold. “Wait here,” he says, planting Donghyuck against the pillar close by. “I’ll be–right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

“Baby, baby,” Donghyuck mumbles instead, cradling his phone to his cheek. “Come and get me please.”

Quickly, Renjun enters the bathroom himself and works hastily, not wanting Donghyuck alone out there for too long. It’s when he’s washing his hands that he catches his reflection in the mirror. He frowns at the odd angles his hair insists on sticking out in and the way his eyes droop tiredly. Patting at his cheeks to look more alive, he reaches into his back pocket for a small tube of lip gloss.

It’s got a nice baby pink tint to it and little specks of glitter; Donghyuck had gifted it to him some weeks back, and Renjun’d loved it–it looked natural against his lips and it made him feel pretty and, honestly, he’s already thinking about trying out some of the other colors the moment he’s done with this one.

“Wow.”

Renjun’s eyes dart upwards in the mirror, hand stilling over where he’s applying the gloss on. Blonde hair and wide eyes stare back, lips parted in a small _o_. Even with the buzz in his mind, Renjun recognizes Lee Jeno in an instant. He’s seen the boy around campus a couple of times–only a couple, Renjun swears. And it’s not like he’s _tried_ to sought Jeno out; it’s just hard to miss when Jeno’s almost constantly the center of attention, being one of the frontrunners for the university’s basketball team.

Yeah. That’s it. That’s exactly why Renjun’s noticed him. Yes.

“I mean–” Jeno shakes his head, “Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

“It’s okay.” Renjun smacks his lips and tucks the lip gloss away. He turns, albeit light-headedly, and tries not to look like he’s just downed five drinks in a half hour, “Huang Renjun. Nice to meet you.”

“I know who you are,” Jeno says. He looks at Renjun from under the cover of his bangs, “We’ve had a couple of classes together.”

“Oh.” Renjun should’ve remembered that, he knows that. How could he not know when he’s spent their last finance seminar staring at that back of Lee Jeno’s perfectly shaped head? “Sorry. I’m kind of. Drunk.”

Jeno smiles, “I can see that.” He washes his hands quickly and Renjun watches, though he isn’t entirely sure why, reaching for some paper towels, “Are you here alone?”

“I’m with my friends,” Renjun says.

“Same here, but I think I lost them in the pit...” Jeno wipes his hands dry and reaches past Renjun to toss the paper towel away, but, for god only knows why, Renjun doesn’t stop himself from reaching out and grabbing at the sleeve of Jeno’s shirt, holding him in place. Jeno stuns, staring plainly at Renjun’s lips, “Huh?”

“Sorry,” Renjun says this time. His face is a breath from Jeno’s and _Jesus_ , it’s definitely not the alcohol talking when his mind tells him of exactly how cute Lee Jeno is. He licks his lips nervously, “I think you’re cute.”

Jeno makes a surprised noise at the back of his throat, “Me?”

“Yeah.” Renjun licks his lips again, heart hammering in his chest when Jeno moves to straighten from how he was so awkwardly bent forward, standing close to Renjun. Jerkily, “Sorry. I’m bad. At flirting.”

“I–” Jeno laughs, eyes crinkling at the sides. Renjun sways, embarrassment making him blush to his ears, “I thought you were doing a pretty good job at it.”

Renjun balks, “Really?”

“Really.” Jeno is staring at his lips again and Renjun inches closer, digs his hands into the front of Jeno’s shirt. In a whisper, “We shouldn’t–you’re drunk.”

Renjun wets his lips, _god_ he just wants to kiss Jeno so bad now. He wanted to know how Jeno’s lips would feel against his, what little noises could he pull out of Jeno, where Jeno’s hands would be on him when they do–if he hadn’t already admitted to crushing hard on one Lee Jeno before tonight, he sure as hell has to after.

“But I–really want to kiss you.”

And Renjun isn’t drunk enough to be saying things like this, but Jeno doesn’t need to know that. The alcohol serves as liquid courage and Renjun can simply–pretend to be confident for a night.

Jeno’s lips part and Renjun thinks–he swears–Jeno’s going to lean forward and kiss him sweet, but the younger boy is pulling away then, holding Renjun at a distance too far for any kissing to happen. “Do you have your phone on you?”

Renjun, despite being plummeted with sadness from being rejected, reaches for his phone anyway. Jeno takes it and dials, and Renjun thinks he’s hearing things when a phone rings in the bathroom. His mind is slow to register Jeno picking up his own phone, rejecting the call before tapping away at the screen again.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” Jeno says, sliding Renjun’s phone back into Renjun’s back pocket.

Renjun doesn’t fight it when Jeno starts to lead them out of the bathroom, “You won’t kiss me?”

Jeno coughs loudly, “I–” He has a hand gently on Renjun’s waist, “I want to.” Renjun’s heart _soars,_ “But I don’t want you to forget it when you wake up tomorrow morning.”

“You’ll call me?” Renjun asks, brain refusing to filter his words, “Tomorrow? Really?”

“Yes,” Jeno nods seriously, “I promise. I’ll call you, and I’ll–”

“Jun!” Donghyuck is rushing up to them now, hands gripping onto Renjun’s arm. He doesn’t appear to express any interest in Lee Jeno’s presence, “Where did you go–I thought you _died_!”

“I didn’t–die, Hyuck, I was just–”

“We’ve to go now,” Donghyuck mumbles, grabbing Renjun and efficiently pulling him away from Jeno. He starts to go on a tirade then, yanking Renjun along with him.

Renjun throws a helpless look over his shoulder and waves when he sees Jeno watching him get dragged down the hall, a grin on his face. He makes an _I’ll call you_ gesture with a hand and Renjun nods fervently. He takes his phone and hugs it to his chest, already drunkenly waiting for Jeno’s call and hopefully, one day, Jeno’s kiss too.


	35. secretary – dotae - slight angst, fluff

Doyoung takes pride in never worrying. He doesn’t have to because he has everything planned down to the second. He never has to worry about rushing for the bus or the train, never has to think about what to eat for lunch or dinner (he plans most of his meals beforehand), never has to worry over anything because he has _everything_ under control.

Except one thing. 

One person, really.

Doyoung contemplates quitting his job as he practically flies up eight flights of stairs, cursing at his lack of physical strength as he goes. The lifts are too slow and it’s only four floors from where he’d parked to the level holding ridiculously wealthy patients; Doyoung had thought it easier than it actually, painfully is. He doesn’t know what pushes him to finally make it to the fourth floor–the anger in his gut or the worry in his heart–but he makes it nevertheless, already thinking up a draft for his resignation letter. Breathless, he scurries towards the nearest reception counter, a little light-headed from all the lack of oxygen he’s getting.

“Lee–Taeyong,” he huffs, to a startled nurse in blue scrubs. She holds the clipboard close to her chest, looking ready to thwack Doyoung’s head with it if he came too close, “I’m looking–for Lee Taeyong.”

“Sir, this is a VIP section only.” She stares at his disheveled appearance, “Are you a family member?”

“No,” Doyoung straightens, awkwardly pulling at his ratty sweater. He’d been lying in bed when Youngho called and he hadn’t thought to grab a proper jacket on the way out, “I’m his secretary.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Only family members are allowed on this floor at this hour.”

Doyoung narrows his eyes, “He’s alone in there–he hasn’t got any family in the country tonight.” The nurse opens her mouth to reject him once more, but Doyoung shakes his head, “I’m his family.”

She stares, “You just said you’re his secretary.”

“I’m also his _boyfriend_.”

Doyoung would feel a lot more apologetic if he knew the current state Taeyong was in; Youngho’s phone call had been short and uninformative, stammering about how he’d found Taeyong unconscious in his stupid, million-dollar penthouse–what was the point of a twenty-four-hour receptionist if they can’t even make sure their residents aren’t knocked out cold!

“That’s not exactly in their job description, Doyoung,” Youngho had said. Doyoung hadn’t been listening, he was too busy sprinting out of his apartment, car keys clutched in his sweaty hand. “The ambulance is already on its way so don’t speed. I don’t need you unconscious too.”

“Please just let me in,” Doyoung says. He’s resorted to begging now, _god,_ “His friend that brought him in here had a flight to catch so I know he’s in there alone–he really, _really_ doesn’t do well when he’s alone.”

The nurse eyes him for a good five seconds, before sighing and pulling out a visitors’ pass for Doyoung. She taps at the desktop and scribbles Taeyong’s room number on it, “The doctor’s notes here says he’s doing better now, but he needs to stay overnight for further observation. The room is 1601, right at the end of the hall on your left.”

Doyoung barely manages a _Thank you_ because he’s already rushing towards what probably is the biggest suite on this floor, heart furious in his chest. He doesn’t bother knocking, but he does push the door open slowly, poking his head in for a peek.

The room is shrouded in darkness, sans the dim light overhead the hospital bed and the colorful lights on the machine hooked up to Taeyong. He’s lying curled up on a side, back towards the door, and Doyoung feels his shoulders drop. At least he didn’t need to have a ventilator machine to keep breathing.

As quietly as possible, Doyoung slips into the room, walking on light feet as he crosses the unnecessarily spacious room. He slows upon approaching the bed, exhaling softly when he sees that Taeyong is fast asleep. All at once, the worry in his heart leaves his body, and Doyoung feels a wave of exhaustion hit him. He’d been so _anxious_ something had happened to Taeyong–did he fall and hit his head? Did he have too many sweets and crashed on a sugar high? Did he _not_ have any sweets and crashed from that instead?

Doyoung never worries about anything, but when it comes to Taeyong–he worries about everything.

“You scared me,” Doyoung scolds gently, inching close to pat at Taeyong’s hair. He tucks away the strands that’d gone astray, feeling the telltale warmness of a fever on his forehead. He pulls up one of the large bedside chairs as close as he can to the bed, reaching through the rails to continue stroking Taeyong’s hair, simply needing to touch his worrisome boyfriend.

“I was so worried, you know?” Doyoung whispers this into the dark, “On the way here, I couldn’t stop thinking–if something happened–I–I wouldn’t know what to do. I didn’t even get to tell you I love you when you left for your meeting last night.” He quells the desire to yank on Taeyong’s ear, punish him for scaring the living daylights out of Doyoung, “I love you.”

At that, Taeyong starts to stir, and Doyoung sighs in relief. Of course, he knows that the nurse mentioned that Taeyong’ll be fine, but seeing his usually bright and cheery boyfriend all _lifeless_ in bed–Doyoung can’t help but be worried.

“Doyoung?” He reaches for Doyoung’s hand on his cheek, fingers circling Doyoung’s wrist, “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital,” Doyoung mumbles. He strokes the high of Taeyong’s cheek with his thumb, “Youngho found you unconscious in your apartment. Do you remember that?”

Taeyong wakes slowly, blinking the sleepiness away. Sluggishly, he murmurs, “No, I–I don’t remember any of that.”

“It’s alright, honey, you’re okay now,” Doyoung says. Taeyong starts to shift once more and Doyoung rises to his feet, “Do you need anything? Water? Food?”

“Doyoung–”

“I’ve already cancelled all your meetings and any events you promised to appear yet for the next week.” Doyoung pulls his hand way, moving away to fuss around for a glass of water. Taeyong rolls onto his back to watch him, “And I’ve already told Jaehyun and Sicheng that any calls for you have to come through me first, I don’t want you overworking yourself after this whole–event, okay? I–”

“Baby–”

“I should call the nurse,” Doyoung sighs. He fills the cup with water and sticks a straw in it, rounding back to the side of the bed. He holds the straw for Taeyong, and nods when Taeyong takes it with reluctance, “And have a doctor come down and take a look at you again, and I know you don’t exactly need the insurance, but I’ll still have to file for it–just in case it comes up in the future–”

“Can you–”

“I’ll leave this here for you, okay?” Doyoung sets the cup of water within reach, turning to leave, “I’ll go get a nurse, so just–”

“ _Doyoung_.” He turns again at the sound of his name, stilling at the frown on Taeyong’s face, “Could you please–not be my secretary? Not right now?”

Doyoung reaches for Taeyong’s hand, eyes searching his face for any signs of pain, “What? What is it?”

“Nothing,” Taeyong sighs. He struggles to sit up and Doyoung hastily reaches over to help fluff the pillows, “I just–don’t feel so good and I–”

“Okay, wait here, I’ll call the doctor and–”

“Stay with me, please, just lie here with me,” Taeyong mumbles. In the hospital gown, his thin frame stands out even more, and Doyoung can’t decide between listening and rushing out to find a doctor, “I don’t want to be alone right now and I want my boyfriend, not my secretary.”

Doyoung makes a face, “But are you hurting? I’ll be right back, it won’t even take a minute–”

“I’m okay,” Taeyong insists. He pulls on Doyoung’s wrist, alarmingly weak, until Doyoung is resting on the edge of the bed, one foot still planted on the floor. “It’s just–I remember being in the ambulance and I was–alone.”

Doyoung sighs, “Baby–”

“I wanted them to call you, but I couldn’t speak.” Taeyong’s eyes widen, and he tugs on Doyoung harder, enough to have Doyoung assenting, climbing into bed. He has the mind to kick his shoes off before pulling the blanket up to crawl under it. Taeyong curls to rest on Doyoung’s chest, speaking softly, “I hated it.”

“I’m sorry,” Doyoung mumbles. He hugs Taeyong tighter, tries to keep his shoulders from shaking, “I should’ve been there and I should’ve been by your side, I–”

“Please move in with me.”

Doyoung’s hand stills, “What?”

“Move in with me.” Taeyong buries his face into Doyoung’s sweater, breathing him in, “You know I don’t do well alone and if you were there when I fell, I wouldn’t have been so–scared being alone in the ambulance, Doyoung, I needed you there, I really needed you–”

Doyoung doesn’t know what to make of this. As much as he wanted to move in with Taeyong, he doesn’t want it to happen just because they’re both rushed into it. He fidgets, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea–” Taeyong pushes against him immediately, and Doyoung firms his grip, rushes to amend, “I want to move in with you, I do–I do.” He feels Taeyong relax against him, “But I also want us to be ready for it.”

Taeyong whispers, “You’re not ready?”

“I want to be,” Doyoung kisses his crown. “But we have to think about our jobs, your family, how we’re going to split rent–”

“ _Rent_ –”

“Yes, _rent_.” Doyoung clicks his tongue, “I don’t care if you’ve got billions of dollars in your bank account, I’m still going to pay rent–I’m not going to leech off you.” He cradles Taeyong close, “What if I came to live with you over the weekends? Just so we can test out living together?”

Taeyong considers this, “Friday to Tuesday.”

“That’s five days of the week.”

“Friday to Monday then.” Taeyong hooks his legs with Doyoung’s, “Please? I’m sick.”

Doyoung pulls away, “Are you faking it?”

Taeyong looks up, round eyes so wide that if Doyoung didn’t know any better, he would think it to be one of innocence. “Right now, I am,” he admits. Then mumbles, “But I was really scared earlier–I’ve never felt anything like it.”

Doyoung settles back against the pillow, “I’m sorry–I’ll ask the nurse later if I can get an extra bed in here to stay with you tonight.”

“Just sleep here with me.”

Doyoung laughs, “And what if a nurse walks in on us? Or your doctor?”

“I don’t really care,” Taeyong sniffs. His fingers dig deeper into Doyoung’s sweater, refusing to let go, “Want you here.”

Doyoung gives in, because he’ll always give in when it comes to Taeyong. He allows himself to relax, now that Taeyong’s safe and in his arms, “I want to be here too–and I will be, so rest now, okay? You’ve had a long day.”

“Promise you won’t go anywhere?”

While he occasionally had a distaste for Taeyong’s stick affection, he must admit that it _is_ endearing at times, “I promise.”

“Okay.” Taeyong sighs, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And as Taeyong succumbs to sleep, Doyoung thinks up a plan to get out of bed, talk to Taeyong’s doctor and get back in without the boy noticing. While he could rightfully be one of the world’s richest billionaires and his very stubborn boss, Taeyong is still very much _first_ the love of Doyoung’s life and there is absolutely no way he’s going to let Taeyong brush off any concerns relating to his health.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's the end! ♡ please leave a comment if you have a favorite chapter and thank you to everyone that sent in a request! i'm sorry if i didn't manage to get to a couple of prompts, but there's always next round!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/jenhyungs) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jenhyung)


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